Dearest Darling, We're Damned to Die
by EranthyaeNoire
Summary: To be acquainted with Damien, even briefly, could be dangerous. Pip, very soon, was going to find out the depths of that danger. Will Damien save Pip when it matters most, or will the Anti-Christ leave Pip to his death? Dip.
1. The Marvelous Return of the AntiChrist

**EranthyaeNoire: Hello, FanFiction community! It's been a while huh? I have no excuse other than after my computer crashed and I lost everything, I became terribly lazy. But I hope to redeem myself and my horrid laziness by presenting to you, the community, with a token of my affection; a new story. Within the time I've been away, I've taken writing classes in school and worked on the Literary Magazine. I hope that these experiences have improved my writing capabilities, and pleases you, the FanFiction Community. And now for the disclaimer:  
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**_I, EranthyaeNoire, have in no way, shape, or form ownership of South Park. The likes of which, including setting, characters, and any specific events mentioned in this fanfiction belong to the likes of Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I, personally, own only this fanfiction and any OCs, or Original Characters, that may take part in this fanfiction. Once again, I repeat that I do not own South Park._**

**Series: South Park**

**Rating: M for Mature. Such reasons include language, dark and/or suggestive themes, violence/gore, character death, and adult-like scenarios/concepts. Reader's discretion is advised. **

**Pairing: DamienxPip**

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_**Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup never thought that he would ever see the Anti-Christ for a second time. After he tossed their friendship aside and lit Pip on fire at Eric Cartman's birthday party, all for the sake of acceptance from the other boys, Damien seemed to have disappeared from South Park.

At first he hoped that Damien would come back. He didn't need an apology from him, he didn't even want it. He could forgive, he could try to forget. He wanted to be able to have someone to talk to at lunch, spend time with on the playground, or even (dare he be fortunate enough) have over at his house one day. But Damien never came back.

Within a week after he realized that Damien would not ever come back to South Park, Pip felt a maelstrom of emotions to this realization.

He felt resentful, for his only friend up and left him within such a short time of being together.

He felt melancholic, for being abandoned and left with all these unkind folk who looked down on him for his nationality, even if they got it wrong almost all of the time.

He felt lonesome, for there was no one to play with him at recess or share lunch with in the cafeteria.

And he felt a hate. Not towards Damien, no, but towards himself. He could not deny that in the deepest, darkest parts of his heart and soul he could not wonder that, had maybe he been a better friend toward Damien, maybe he wouldn't have left. Maybe, just maybe, it was his fault Damien left.

In time these emotions of his were locked away and forgotten, and Pip went on with his normal life. He did his homework, helped with his chores; he even got the South Park Elementary dodge ball team all the way to the world finals against China and won. But this accomplishment went unnoticed.

He had moved on from Damien, Son of Satan and Anti-Christ. And he fancied himself to be doing just fine. And then it all came crashing down into a million miniscule pieces, like a shattered mirror that had fallen from its place.

It was a Tuesday; in the second term of fourth grade. It was recess, and the other children had grown tired of spitting on his face and aiming for his eyes. Today they had grown bored of that activity rather early. And usually, when they have left Pip by himself to go play with others elsewhere, Pip would either on walks around the playground, or go and sit by the brick fence and watch the cars go by. Which ever one that would keep him out of the way of the other children better.

He wiped the spit from his face and hair with his sleeve, and then wiped the sleeve along the side of his jacket and finally straightened his newsboy cap. He looked around the playground.

He saw a group of girls on the swing set, a large group of boys and girls playing a game of freeze tag in the open area behind the playground, Stan Marsh and his friends arguing yet again with Craig Tucker and his friends, Bebe Stevens and Wendy Testaburger chatting away on the stairs, Damien standing just beyond the brick fence-

What?

He took a second glance towards the brick fence, making sure to pay attention this time. There was nothing, No Damien to be seen anywhere. Aside from a rusty-red Sudan driving by, nothing was behind the brick fence.

Pip stood there dumbfounded. Did he really see Damien, or was it no more than a trick of his imagination? He assumed the latter of the two, as he couldn't see the darkly-clad Anti-Christ anywhere. His mind registered the sound of the bell ringing, breaking his thoughts away from whether or not he had actually seen Damien.

Recess was over. Now it was time for him to get back to class. He walked toward the school, ascended the stairs and roamed the halls. He made no effort to go towards his locker or make a trip to the bathroom. He went straight to Mr. Garrison's room, straight to his desk, sat down and stared.

After recess, Mr. Garrison's class had reading. And in Mr. Garrison's class he always had the class read books far above their grade level. He had them read _The Old Man and the Sea_ and _The Catcher in the Rye _earlier in the year. Recently he had the class reading a novel by C.S. Lewis. _Till We Have Faces_, a parody of an old Greek myth. For The most part, Pip enjoyed the book greatly. The plot was captivating and he could find some sympathies towards the main character. And he usually had no trouble paying attention in class.

But the image of what could have been Damien beyond the brick fence was imprinted in his mind. Did he really see Damien, or was it a figment of his imagination? And if it was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, why would he be imagining such things _now_ after coping for so long? And, in the case that it wasn't a figment of his imagination, and Damien _really did_ come back, why now after all this time? And most of all, why would he not try to make contact with Pip? They were friends, right? One usually tries to make contact with a friend after not seeing them for a long time, right?

"Pip! For the love of God, pay attention, you European piece of crap!" The sound of these angry words being directed towards him brought him out of the depths of his thoughts and back to the classroom. He recognized faces decorated with looks of annoyance and disdain. The back of his neck and the tips of his ears felt hot with embarrassment.

"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Garrison." he stammered, "I'm not feeling all too well today. May I please go to the Nurse's office?" He lied. He really wasn't feeling sick at all. He was as healthy as healthy could be. But a quick excuse to leave class would do them all good. He could get his thoughts together and overcome the embarrassment, and the class could overcome the brief annoyance they felt towards him. _A win-win situation_, Pip thought.

And, fortunately for him, Mr. Garrison seemed to think the same way. Or he simply agreed to having him out of his class. It was probably the latter of the two, but Pip could always think that it could possibly be the former. He rose from his desk and walked up to Mr. Garrison's desk, taking the hall pass from the teacher and making his way out of the room.

It wasn't two steps away from the almost closed door when he heard from beyond said door, "Damn Frenchie."

He felt his blood boil. His hands clenched, teeth gritted, body going stiff with oncoming blind rage. It was a bit strange, honestly. He could take punches and spit and any other kind of abuse they could throw at him. He could withstand the ignorance and almost all the name calling, with the exception of that one word.

_Frenchie._

He wasn't French. He hated the French. And to be associated with _them_ made something deep inside the usually docile, forgiving Pip snap. He looked around, and grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on. This time it was a trash can. Within his fit of rage he picked it up and threw it across the hall.

He breathed deep, trying to maintain some gentlemanly composure in the midst of this sudden outburst of rage. Pip forced himself to momentarily calm down, and realized just what he had done. He had made a terrible mess in this small outburst. Assortments of trash had been strewn about the hallway, with the trash can at the end of it with the top removed from the lower half.

It would be horribly unfortunate if someone saw this. So, naturally, Pip stooped down to the floor and began picking up the trash. He had better hurry before someone saw this mess and figured out just what he had done. This effort, unfortunately for Pip, was in vain.

He could hear the distinct sound of slow, loud clapping from behind. Someone saw what he had done. Oh dear, he was for sure going to be in trouble. He looked over his shoulder, ready to apologize for his behavior and the mess that he had made, and to reassure that he was going to clean it all up-

But there was no one there.

He knew he heard the sound of slow clapping. It nearly gave him a heart attack in the process. But there was no one. No one and nothing but Pip and his mess. He sat there for a moment, staring into the depths of the hallways, searching for some other sign of life aside from himself. First he imagined Damien from beyond the brick fence. Now he was imagining some unknown person applauding a destructive act of suppressed rage.

Goodness, was this what madness was like? It wasn't the least bit pleasant. In fact, Pip found it to be a tad bit nerve-racking. He took in his breath and exhaled slowly, and turned back to clean up his mess. Once the trash was back in the trash can, and said trash can back upright in its correct place with the top reconnected with its bottom half, Pip made his way down to the nurse's office.

Maybe there really was something wrong with him today.

He made an effort to reach the nurse's office as quick as he could. Upon his arrival, he noticed the nurse sitting in her chair, legs-crossed, reading the latest issue of _Cosmopolitan_ and shaking a bottle of water. There was a box of weight-loss powder mix on the desk next to her. She glanced up from her magazine and briefly looked at Pip, eyes glazed over with apathy and boredom. She laid down her magazine and motioned her hand in a "come here" fashion. And, like so, Pip came to her.

"What's wrong with you?" she said halfheartedly.

"I haven't been feeling all that well today, ma'am." he said. He wondered if he should have told her about the hallucinations. Mr. Mackey was probably more suited for such things, but it wouldn't hurt to ask for a medical professional's input before concerning that of a psychological professional. Just as he was about to speak up, the nurse rose up from her seat and grabbed hold of an electronic thermometer and placed it in Pip's mouth. She scowled.

"Damn it, the batteries died." she muttered under her breath, albeit unsuccessfully. She shifted through the drawers of the desk, and scowled again. "And no working batteries, just my damn luck. You stay here and sit down. I'm going to make a trip to the office and get some new batteries. Sit still and don't touch anything."

"Yes ma'am." Pip answered obediently. The nurse left, and Pip was once again by himself. He took a look around, trying to pass the time quickly. There were multiple posters promoting exercise and eating healthy, the various systems of the human body and how to prevent one from getting sick. There was an assortment of bottles and boxes, filled with many things and unidentifiable liquids, all which decorated the counters next to the Nurse's desk. The floor was a dull brown, almost gray, and it matched the ceiling up above. The walls were a beige-like color, slightly discolored in some places. There was a distinct smell of rubbing alcohol; it stung his nostrils and made staying in the room a tad unbearable. It felt a bit hot in the small room, and seemed to have been getting warmer and warmer.

It was quiet. The kind of quiet that lingered in the room, filled up your ears and reminded you of just how alone you were. Pip usually didn't mind. He tended to enjoy peace and quiet. He found it comforting in a way. In still silence he could not be rejected or accused, mocked or ridiculed, ostracized or revolted. Silence accepted all and let it be. But this, this kind of silence made even him the least bit nervous. It rang in his ears and brought a bout of uneasiness. He felt fundamentally on edge; he fidgeted, glanced about, played with the cuffs of his jacket and kicked his feet to and fro.

In this silence, Pip couldn't shake the feeling of, well, being _watched_. It could have just been the paranoia from earlier today. He was hoping it was just that, and that it would mull over soon. He glanced out the window on the door, hoping to buy some time by monitoring anything that may have happened outside of the room.

There was nothing.

There was still nothing. Wait, the faint sound of upcoming footsteps. The nurse was probably coming back with new batteries for the electronic thermometer. They came closer and closer, and as they came closer, Pip noticed they sounded nothing like the high heels the Nurse was wearing. They scuffled and sounded mostly firm. Flat shoes, most likely. So it wasn't the nurse, but rather a student or another member of the faculty. He glanced again.

The brisk view of jet black hair and a puckish, almost dark smile caught his eye, and then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. He had seen a similar smile once before, on the face of a friend who had been gone for some time now. It was that same friend he had been imagining all day. Damien.

He couldn't _really_ be back, could he?

His thoughts were short lived, and he nearly jumped out of his own skin, as the Nurse came back into the room. She shut the door with a distinct slam, picked the thermometer off the desk and opened the cartridge in the back. She took out the old batteries, threw them away in the trash, and put in the new ones. She pressed a button and then turned back to Pip.

"Open up," she said briskly, and likewise Pip obliged. He waited for a moment with the thermometer under his tongue before the thermometer let out an elongated _beep_. The Nurse took the thermometer from Pip's mouth and looked at it. "You've got a fever, it would seem. Go ahead and go home. I don't want any of your European germs getting around to the rest of the kids."

"Yes ma'am." Pip answered, before getting up.

"Name please." she said, pen and early release permission slip in hand.

"Phillip Pirrup, ma'am. But everyone calls me Pip because they hate me." he replied.

"Pip Pirrup, got it," she muttered, tearing the piece of paper out and handing it to Pip, "Now go on home." Pip thanked her for her time and assistance, and then left. He made his way back to the classroom and gave the slip to Mr. Garrison. Mr. Garrison, seemingly glad to have the boy leave his class for the rest of the day, gave Pip his assignments, let him collect his things and exit the class.

Pip could hear the sounds of exasperated sighs of relief when he left the classroom. And he couldn't help but feel a little bit hurt. He made his way through the halls, and that feeling of hurt welled up inside. It was times like this Pip was glad he lived within walking distance to school; he could walk it out until he was home and then let it go without having to worry about any of his classmates seeing a sign of weakness.

That was last of what he needed; letting the rest of South Park Elementary know that there was something inside Pip aside from his kind, forgiving nature and that bottled rage he locked away. If they could see that he could feel hurt and even shed the tiniest of tears, it would all the more give them the incentive to continue. For children at this age are cruel and unforgiving creatures, who will stop at nothing to find ways to entertain themselves. Even if the means include berating and tearing down one another. So Pip walked fast. He walked fast to the office, where he called his foster mother to tell her that he wasn't feeling well and was going home and to sign himself out, he walked fast through the doors and to the sidewalk, and he walked fast across the street to trek two blocks down and one block across to his house. He stared at his feet, making his way home swiftly, albeit blindly.

And, had Pip not been staring at his feet, he would have known about the upcoming figure walking towards him. He would have known to have stepped aside to avoid contact. But, alas, he didn't and the two of them brushed against each other, shoulder against shoulder. Pip looked up and turned around, ready to apologize for bumping into the other, but once he saw who it was his words died in his throat.

Damien. There and in the flesh. There was no doubt about it. There before him was the Anti-Christ, clad in his trademark black clothes and hands in his pockets, staring back at Pip with nonchalant eyes. They seemed to go right through him, and Pip could help but feel the least bit disturbed.

"Hello, Pip." he said. Pip's mind was blank. He couldn't think of anything to say, much less grasp the idea that Damien was standing there talking to him after being away for so long. "Not going to talk to me? I'm almost hurt. Especially sense I went through all that trouble of getting you out of school just to talk to you. Do you know how tiresome and irritating to affect the health of a perfectly healthy person? Especially for something as minor as a high temperature?" There was a lingering mock in the way he spoke. He probably knew Pip was stunned to see him after all this time, and was poking fun at the fact for the sake of his own amusement. Such was the Anti-Christ, one could assume. "Sit down. I want to talk to you about something before we both go our separate ways."

They both sat on a bus bench. Pip had laid his book bag by his feet, sitting upright with his hands on his knees. His joints were almost stiff, his back straight and his mind still dazed. Damien, however, was a picture of relaxation. He sat back, one of his legs crossed over the other in a lax manner, and arms resting on the back of the bench. His head lay back, staring up at the cloudy skies overhead with that devilish smirk and half-lidded eyes.

"Pip, it is important that you listen to what I say. Am I understood?" Pip nodded. "Good. Now, Pip, what you could call a long-upheld deal between two feuding parties has been broken, and the consequences may be quite treacherous. Very soon a bunch of shady characters are going to be coming to South Park. They could already be here, I don't know. But whatever you do, you don't trust them, you don't listen to them, you don't believe anything they say. I want you to be my eyes and ears for South Park, okay? If you meet anyone who mentions the name Micah to you, you will inform me immediately."

"If you don't mind me asking, why?" Pip finally managed to speak out, although faintly. His voice felt like it was going away.

"You don't need to know all the details, but let's just say they, especially Micah, have been causing some trouble for me recently. But seriously, Pip, if you ever do begin to believe what they say, something terrible may happen."

Pip was scared. Damien was warning him of something awful, and he even seemed a bit scared himself. Pip could hear it in the way he spoke. And the idea of Damien, the Anti-Christ, being scared about something, wasn't the least bit comforting.

"W-What is it that could happen?" he asked. Damien turned his head from the sky toward Pip, his piercing gaze making Pip all the more frightened.

"As much as I would love it to be, South Park could very well be destroyed, and in the process many people in South Park will die. _You _will be one of those people who will die, Pip."

And with that said, within the time it would have taken for one to blink, Damien vanished, leaving Pip in the depths of fear, frozen to the bus bench.

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So, how's that for a first start? Rate, review, all that Jazz. I'll try to get chapter two up soon.


	2. Strange People in a Strange Van

**Hi, everyone. How are you all today? I am well, thank you for asking. After getting back some good feedback from the previous chapter, I got over excited and got chapter two done. I had forgotten just how fun this was! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter just as much as the last one.**

**_I, EranthyaeNoire, have in no way, shape, or form ownership of South Park. The likes of which, including setting, characters, and any specific events mentioned in this fanfiction belong to the likes of Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I, personally, own only this fanfiction and any OCs, or Original Characters, that may take part in this fanfiction. Once again, I repeat that I do not own South Park._**

**Series: South Park**

**Rating: M for Mature. Such reasons include language, dark and/or suggestive themes, violence/gore, character death, and adult-like scenarios/concepts. Reader's discretion is advised. **

**Pairing: DamienxPip

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After Damien had vanished, and Pip came to his senses, the young British immigrant rose from the bus stop bench, breathed deep and continued his way back home. Pip lived two blocks down and one block over from South Park Elementary. The short distance from house to school gave his adoptive parents the belief that Pip, being the fairly responsible boy he was for his age, that he could walk to and from school himself. They even gave him his own house key.

And for this belief his adoptive parents share, Pip was especially grateful that day. For he never wanted to go home and straight to bed as bad as he did today. He was already past the first block; he just needed to stay straight one more block and then turn left and go to the end of the block, and he would be home. Please, Dear Lord; if He was feeling generous today, let Pip get home without any kind of peculiarities or disasters coming in the way.

His mind was filled with what Damien said. If Pip wasn't careful, he was _going to die_. Pip had never thought about his own death before. Sure, there was Kenny and his constant deaths. He had gone to several of the services to offer his condolences. But, after the first couple of times of learning that Kenny died, going to the service and then seeing him back at school the next day, the effect of death seemed to just fade away. Even after that time when Kenny's death seemed almost permanent, he still came back. He remembered that time. Not long after, Stan and the other boys held auditions for the next Kenny. Pip had almost won, but Tweek was chosen instead. But still, not long after, Kenny miraculously returned from the dead like always.

But Pip _wasn't_ Kenny. There was no guarantee that he would come back the next day, or even weeks after. He probably wouldn't. If Pip did something wrong and he died, he would most likely stay dead.

He heaved a weary sigh. It was a scary thought. He would have to be careful or else-

"Something bothering you, little man?"

To say that Pip was caught off guard was a bit of an understatement. His heart, bless it, was frantically beating at the sudden surprise of someone breaking what was a constant silence. For the last while, Pip had been staring at his feet as he walked. He stopped, and looked over. On the side of the road sat an old, lime green, rust and sticker covered 1966 Volkswagen Van. If Eric Cartman were there, he would have a fit and accuse everyone in said van a hippie. The door was open, with an assortment of people in it.

There was a boy about Pip's age, with short wavy chestnut colored hair. His eyes were a distinct gray color, and his face was adorned with freckles. His baggy sweatshirt, tight jeans and sneakers were all earth tones and dark shades, making his hair seem all the brighter.

There was a teenage girl sitting in the car doorway. She had a head full of faded blond hair, partially pulled back, and pale skin. Her blue eyes seemed melancholic, yet she bore a small smile that gave the impression that she may be happy about something. With her layered white skirt, white tank top and flower decorated sandals, she looked as if she just got picked up from a warmer, Southern state. She probably was. She held in her lap a small infant, a baby boy who happily reached up to her hair, playing with what strands he could get a hold of.

Next to her was a young man, quite possibly the same age as the girl, with long, shaggy brown hair that stopped at his shoulders. His brown eyes were soft and welcoming, and his composure was lax. His white jacket was zipped up halfway, revealing a green shirt underneath with a faded image of an alien space ship. His pants were a soft gray material, like the kind pajama pants were made of. And, strangely enough, he wore not shoes, but instead red and white striped socks.

Finally, in the back of the van, was a man a lot older than the rest of them. If Pip had to guess, he would think that the man was in his late thirties to early/mid forties. His dark hair had some gray lining in it, with a small, scruffy beard to match. He had dark, angry eyes. Underneath his light brown trench coat was a light blue collared shirt most likely made of some kind of denim-like material. His jeans were old and faded, and his shoes were covered in mud, dust and any other kind of earthly material.

And why these four strangers (five including the baby) had taken a sudden interest in him had left Pip feeling less than comforted. In fact, he felt a bit awkward.

"I-It's nothing!" Pip lied, "I'm just going home. I'm not feeling to well today." He hoped that he could leave it at that, and that the strangers would accept it and let him go on his way.

"Well, that's no good," said the teenaged boy, who then turned to the boy about Pip's age, "Jacob, walk that poor boy home and make sure he gets home safely. If anything happens to him, you run right on back and tell us."

"You do it, man." replied Jacob, who then laid down in the car and turned away. The teenaged boy seemed to contemplate it for a while before he got up to his feet.

"Not a bad idea. May as well figure out the town while we're here," he said before turning to the blond girl and bestowing a swift kiss on her cheek, "Later, Mirabelle." But by this time, Pip had made his way along. He didn't want these strange strangers following him home. If his adoptive mother were to be home and saw some stranger with him, Lord knows what kind of trouble he may get into.

But, unfortunately for him, the boy with red and white striped socks was a fast walker, and caught up with the fourth grader in no time at all.

"You're a fast little man, little man." he said, "Dude, I couldn't walk this fast if I was sick. I can't stand moving at all when I don't feel well."

"P-please sir, if my mother sees you following me home, I might get in trouble." Pip stammered, feeling more and more uncomfortable the more he walked.

"Then you just tell me when we get close to your house, and I'll turn round back." he replied. He was a reluctant young man, Pip would give him that. "Besides, I wouldn't let Jacob walk around town by himself. Why should I let any other kid? It's a dangerous situation, you know man? You could get, like, abducted or something by some creep-o. Like on television or something."

"I'm sorry if I offend you, sir, but I am not your brother Jacob. I can take care of myself," he lied. Maybe if he could convince this peculiar young man that he did not need to be escorted, he would finally get the clue and leave him be. And then he could go back to worrying about how he would avoid his own potential death.

"Oh, Jacob's not my brother. I'm not related to any of those guys. Or Mirabelle. But don't they teach you kids safety in school anymore? I guess that explains all the abductions and sad stuff on the news nowadays."

Pip, hoping to change the subject, looked at the young man's feet brusquely before asking, "Aren't your feet cold without any shoes on?" The young man paused, stopped walking and stared at his feet. Pip continued on for a while before coming to a stop as well. He watched as the young wiggled his toes and stood on his feet in various positions. It was a bizarre thing to witness.

"Yeah, little man. They are cold a little."

"Then why not wear shoes?"

"I could, but then lots of things would happen." That caught Pip's attention. Things? What kind of things?

"What kind of things?"

"Oh, my feet would be unhappy. I would never get to see my colored socks, and I wouldn't get to feel the sensation of the earth beneath my feet. But mainly cause I would miss looking at my colored socks, little man." The young man followed as Pip turned left towards the next block. At the end of this street was Pip's house. He would have to tell him now so that the strange boy would finally leave him alone.

He turned to the young man and said, "My house isn't too far from here. You can let me walk the rest of the way by myself." The young man seemed to understand. He smiled, and with an outreached hand patted the top of his head. Pip's newsboy cap was left askew in the wake of the young man's hand.

"Take care little man."

"You too, sir." Pip said, giving the young man a half-hearted wave before fixing his hat. Now that he no longer had to worry about some young man following him home, he could be able to go back to worrying about Damien's ominous words.

"Hey!"

Pip turned back to see the young man, standing there. "Jacob's going to be starting school at your school sometime within this week. Mind telling me your name so he'll have at least one person he knows there?" It was a modest and sincere question. Pip could understand the situation. When he had started school at South Park Elementary in the third grade, he had wished there was someone he knew. Then he would have at least one person to keep him company amongst all the strange and cruel-hearted American children.

It would be nice, he supposed, to be that friend instead. He had done so once for Damien, even if the results were less than favorable. That Jacob boy seemed normal. He probably wouldn't set Pip on fire for the sake of social acceptance. All in all, it seemed like a good idea.

"Phillip Pirrup sir. But everyone calls me 'Pip'."

"Pip it is. I'll pass on the message to Jacob," said the young man as he started to walk away, "And if he gets any bit temperamental or out of control, just tell him Micah said to chill out!"

If Pip's heart could have stopped or skipped a beat at any given moment, now would have been a time for so. He wouldn't be surprised if his face started to pale. He started to pick up the pace and walk a little bit faster toward his house.

That was Micah. _That_ was _Micah_. The very person Pip was told to avoid, or else he would die. What could possibly be about the laid-back fellow that would get Pip killed? He seemed nice. A bit eccentric and in need of some shoes, but a nice fellow nonetheless.

Maybe it was some other Micah Damien was referring to? Yes, it had to be. That young man seemed like he wouldn't hurt a fly. He probably wouldn't even hurt a gnat. Pip stated to feel some relief as he slowly, surely reassured himself that the Micah that he just met wasn't the Micah he was supposed to avoid.

And with this new comfort Pip had given himself, he walked across his family's yard and up to the front step, took out the house key and unlocked the door.

His birth parents had been dead for a long time. And for a short while, he lived with his sister and her husband. He enjoyed their company, his sister's husband more than his sister. But, as time went on, it became harder on his sister and her husband to take care of him. Eventually they arranged for him to go across the Atlantic to America, in hopes of finding a family that could properly take care of him. He started on the East Coast, eventually being transferred across the country, town by town, until at last he came to a small town in Colorado known as South Park.

When Pip first came to South Park, he lived in yet another orphanage. He got along with the other children just fine as long as he stayed out of the way. He minded the adults and was always on his best behavior when prospecting couples wishing to be parents came by. For a while, Pip wasn't adopted. He was patient, and would wait as long as needed until there as a family that would want to adopt him. And, near the end of summer vacation before the start of fourth grade, a family finally came by to bring him home with them.

Pip lived in a decent house with two decent people. The couple who had adopted Pip were nice, if sometimes preoccupied and unintentionally neglecting, people who didn't seem to mind as much as everyone else in South Park that Pip was British. Sure he would sometimes speak in a manner that would confuse, or occasionally frustrate, his adoptive parents, but they nevertheless treated him like a legitimate son.

Pip assumed it was because Pip bore a striking resemblance to their first child, who, as Pip learned not long after his arrival from the other children, was abducted by a man and found dead four days later in an abandoned shack over in Wyoming. He didn't mind, and even offered his condolences for their loss. He needed parents to take care of him, and they needed a son to fill that empty place their previous son had occupied. They both gave each other what they needed, so Pip saw no reason to complain.

"Mum! Are you here?" he called out into the house. His adoptive mother had recently been put off her old job, but was in the search for a new job. He recalled that morning his adoptive mother discussing at the breakfast table something about a prospective interview for a new job. Pip assumed that the silence he was answered with meant that his mother was at said interview. He walked over to the living room table and, with a piece of paper and pen from his backpack, wrote "Mum, I came home early after coming down with a fever. I'll be in my room resting. Love, Pip"

After placing the note on the table, Pip took his leave and went upstairs to his room.

His room, although he had been living there since he was adopted in the third grade, was still quite reminiscent of its former predecessor. By now, Pip knew for a fact that there were two things in this world that boy loved more than anything else; dinosaurs and snowboarding. The toy chest was filled with dinosaurs. A small snowboard hung on the wall, accompanied by several posters of professional snowboarders. Even the comforter on the bed was decorated with dinosaurs. They had been kind enough to provide him with a bookshelf for him to fill up with whatever he wanted. It was halfway filled up by now; decorated with books and picture frames with images from England.

Pip's adoptive parents frequently told him that they were going to go to the department store sometime soon so they could get some furniture and a bed spread of his own, but it was put off many times. It was probably because if they did it, they would have to admit to themselves that their first son, their _real _son, was dead.

Pip didn't mind though. Even though they didn't show it openly, they were grieving. They made a big step in recovery already by adopting him. He couldn't be selfish and ask that they take him to get some new bedroom furniture. Besides, if they were kind enough to give him a bookshelf, he really shouldn't complain. To have a bookshelf given to you is better than receiving nothing at all.

He laid down his backpack at the desk adjacent to the bed, then walked over to said bed and laid down.

Today had been a tiring day. He needed rest. The pillow was inviting, the comforter relaxing, and Pip could feel sleep coming.

"Pip! Wake up!" said a demanding, angry, yet familiar, voice. Pip raised his head from the comfort of the pillow to see Damien standing there, arms crossed and face adorned with a scowl.

"Damien…? How did you-"

"Doesn't matter," Damien interrupted, "You met him? Micah?" Pip sat up and faced Damien. Apparently he wouldn't get any sleep unless he talked Damien.

"I met _a_ Micah, but I don't think it's the Micah you want me to be on the lookout for," he said, "If you don't mind me asking, Damien, why is it so important to watch him? He seems quite harmless. A bit strange, yes, but nevertheless harmless."

Damien seemed disgruntled, like something was bothering him and he couldn't figure out whether or not to tell Pip. Pip assumed that it had to do with Micah and why the shoeless young man was considered a threat. He uncrossed his arms and shoved his arms in his pockets.

"Were there any people with him?" It would seem that Damien wasn't going to tell him anything, at least just yet. And, if Pip could learn as to why Damien wanted him to watch Micah, he would play along.

"Yes, there was a man with a mustache and trench coat, a young lady with blond hair and a baby with her, and a boy about our age. I know for a fact the boy's name is Jacob and the girl's name is Mirabelle. I don't know about the man or the baby though. Damien, why is this so important?"

"You don't need to know any of that just yet." _Just yet_. Pip took this as an implication that sometime soon, should his conversations with Damien continue, he may find out the motives and intentions Damien had concerning Micah. And if there was a chance he could find out why, Pip would willingly wait until the time came.

"Right-o," he said, trying to put on a façade of happiness for his friend, "So, this aside, how have you been? Well, I hope?" Damien stared at him suspiciously. It was understandable, if to an extent. If Pip was trying to have a serious conversation with someone and they passed it off for small talk, he would be caught off guard. But if he was going to see Damien more, he would want a chance to have some small talk. It would be nice to hear about what has gone on his friend's life since he had set Pip on fire and left with his father.

"Why do you care?" Damien said, almost sounding defensive in an abrasive manner.

"Well, we're friends, I suppose. And if I saw a friend I hadn't seen in a long time, I would want to learn about what's new with him. It's proper manners, isn't it?" Damien's facial expression twisted into one of confusion, but it soon regained its cool composure.

"I had forgotten just how much of an annoying little prick you could be." he said flatly, "Fine, whatever. I've been all over the place doing the will of my Father, spreading sin and word of his upcoming domination and all that shit." Damien had developed a bit of a foul tongue since Pip had last seen him. He no longer spoke in that Old-Testament, Damnation-to-All way he did when they had first met. It was a bit strange, but was nothing compared to some of the stranger things Pip had witnessed during his stay in South Park.

Pip, personally, wasn't for damnation or for Satan's return to Earth anytime soon, but he assumed, for the sake of their friendship (however one-sided it may seem to be) he would keep that from Damien. "That sounds nice. How long are you planning on staying in South Park?"

"I'm not."

A sinking feeling of sadness had settled in Pip's chest. It seemed that his hopes of his friend staying were shot down. He could feel his shoulders drop. "That's a shame," he said softly, "It would have been nice to have you around a little bit. But I guess if you don't plan on staying around, I can't do anything about it. Right?"

But when Pip looked up at Damien, he saw that the Anti-Christ had left. And for a second time today after seeing Damien, Pip was all alone.

* * *

**Well, that was fun. Let's see what happens next chapter, yeah? Hope you guys enjoyed it!**


	3. Jacob Heiden

**Hi, everyone. I'm back with a new chapter...um, I don't have much more to say other than that.**

**_I, EranthyaeNoire, have in no way, shape, or form ownership of South Park. The likes of which, including setting, characters, and any specific events mentioned in this fanfiction belong to the likes of Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I, personally, own only this fanfiction and any OCs, or Original Characters, that may take part in this fanfiction. Once again, I repeat that I do not own South Park._**

**Series: South Park**

**Rating: M for Mature. Such reasons include language, dark and/or suggestive themes, violence/gore, character death, and adult-like scenarios/concepts. Reader's discretion is advised. **

**Pairing: DamienxPip

* * *

**The following day, Pip's sudden fever that Damien had brought upon him was gone. Pip's mother deemed him healthy enough for him to go to school, and with that he was dressed and out the door.

That morning, as usual, was frigid and covered in snow. South Park was always covered in snow, no matter what the time of year it was. It was a bit of an oddity about the town. But this is the same town where Jesus had a boxing match with Satan, giant Guinea animals invaded and even invaded by Huns. South Park was a bizarre town where bizarre things happened, so something as considerably insignificant as snow being on the ground practically year 'round was nothing. It caught Pip off guard for the first few weeks, but he soon adapted and became accustomed to the perpetual winter that seemed to plague the area.

He walked down towards the end of the block and made the right turn. South Park Elementary school was in sight. He could see children socializing in the front yard of the school. He could hear the school bus that carried most of his class coming up behind him.

His head was then struck with something wet and cold. A snowball. This was soon followed by several more. The sound of laughter could be heard as the school bus passed. It was becoming a common occurrence for Pip to be the target of snowballs going towards school. He didn't really like it. It left him cold and wet and he was surprised he hadn't come down with pneumonia by now. But he would never reveal that to his classmates; Lord forbid they see him lose his temper. If they saw him lose his temper, then he would never be able to make friends with the other children.

"Nice shot, gents! Your aim is improving!" he called as the bus drove past. He then stopped, removed his backpack and wiped off any snow that may have clung to his hair and clothes. It was things like this that made Pip glad that the school was always warm. Once he was sure that he had gotten off all lingering snowflakes from his person, he picked up his backpack and placed it over his shoulders, and started walking down the street towards school once again.

Put on the smile. Wave. Use one's manners when speaking towards others. And above all else, never lose one's temper. Pip did this every day, today would be no different. He walked into the building, up the stairs and down the halls toward Mr. Garrison's fourth grade classroom. He walked toward his desk in the back and sat down, and waited for the other children to come in and sit down so that class could start.

And one by one, they eventually came in. They usually came in groups, social cliques and small circles of friends.

Wendy Testaburger, Bebe Stevens, Red, Sally and Heidi.

Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski, Eric Cartman, and Kenny McCormick, today accompanied by Leopold 'Butters' Stotch.

Craig Tucker, Tweek Tweak, Token Black, Clyde Donovan. Kevin came in not too long after that group, although Pip couldn't tell if he was with them today or not.

Jimmy and Timmy.

And finally, Mr. Garrison himself. "All right class, sit down and shut up." It was a bit perplexing as to why he would say that. The class was already in their seats, and a good amount of them had learned to be quiet by the time Mr. Garrison entered the room. And those who were still talking weren't talking above a hushed whisper. But he was a teacher and this was his classroom; in the confines of these four walls, he was in charge. "Good, now today we have a new student joining out class. So at least try to give the kid a half-assed welcome," he said, turning to the door, "All right, you can come in now."

Chestnut brown hair. Dark gray eyes. Freckles. Sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. This was Jacob, the boy he saw in the van with Micah yesterday.

"Everyone, this is Jacob Heiden." Mr. Garrison announced, "Is there anything you want to share with the class, Jacob? You know, before we all lose interest and get on with our lives?"

Jacob looked around the room, staring intently at each and every student with a stiffened glare. It was like he was analyzing every student and determining in his mind whether or not they were worthy of any secrets about himself he may have had. He then turned his gaze back to Mr. Garrison, and with a nonchalant half-smirk, uttered a brief, "Not at all." He had a distinct Southern accent about his speech. Pip wasn't too well with remembering all of America's fifty states and their locations, but if he had to guess, Pip would guess that Jacob was from somewhere like Georgia or Louisiana. Those were southern states, right?

"Then go find a seat in the back and shut up." The young man briskly made his way towards the back of the room, and set at a free desk two seats to the left of Pip. Pip noticed two of the girls, Sally and Bebe, giggling and silently chattering between each other. No doubt they were going to inspect the boy, analyze and eventually rank him among the boys in an updated "Sparkle" list.

He also saw Stan and Kyle glance at each other, and then over to Cartman and Kenny. Cartman had a smug grin on his face, meaning he was planning to do what he did to every new student; knock him over, fart on him, and give Jacob the name of "Fart-Boy". Pip recalled when that happened to him, and not long after he got spat on on a regular basis.

Pip glanced over at the new boy. Pip assumed that he noticed his staring, because Jacob turned towards Pip. His eyes were cold, and the stare he gave left the lingering feeling that he _knew_ something about Pip. It left him feeling a bit frightened of the other boy.

Morning classes went by fairly quickly, and by ten o'clock the bell had rung for the school wide recess. The other children piled out of the room and into the crowded halls, Pip not far behind them. Once outside, he saw various children playing in groups across the playground yard. More importantly, he noticed a large group of children, most of which were students in his class. He took a seat on the stairs; when the girls had finished interrogating him, and the boys had done humiliating him, Pip decided to offer a friendly welcome to the boy.

Besides, they would soon grow tired of him and find other ways of amusing themselves. If the boy was lucky, their judgment of him would be swift and merciful, if at least more merciful than it was for him.

"Pip."

He looked to his right, and standing next to him, clad in black and arms crossed, was Damien. He was staring intently at Jacob and the crowd that surrounded him, dark red eyes glistening with some dark, unreadable emotion.

"Welcome back, Damien." Pip said warmly, "So what brings you to South Park Elementary?" Damien didn't answer. "Jacob joined our class. You know, the boy that was with Micah. Do you want me to be watching him too?" Again, Damien didn't answer. The one-sided conversation seemed to be going absolutely nowhere, so Pip decided to be quiet for a little while and watch the crowd surrounding Jacob with Damien.

"So where are you from?" Bebe asked quite loudly as she pushed curly, blond strands from her face.

"White House." he replied. The response that came afterwards was nothing less of an uproar. The poor boy was soon inquired about what it's like in the White House, if Obama was anything like he was on television, and what government conspiracies he knew of. "No, no. Not that White House."

"Well, what other White House could you be talking about!" Kyle inquired.

"The White House I'm from is a small town in Tennessee, on the edge of Kentucky. It was named that for the White House Inn the town was formed around!" Jacob stated. The uproar soon fizzled out into disappointment, and the crowd of children slowly began to dissolve. The girls of the "Sparkle" group all left in a large party, complaining amongst themselves how he was cute yet misleading and probably a hick. Craig and his posse left not long afterwards in an adjacent direction towards the swing set. And then it was just Jacob and the boys; Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny. Here it comes; the initiation ceremony of sorts Cartman had given himself to provide to every new student, where Jacob would be publicly humiliated and smelling of farts afterwards.

Jacob glanced beyond Eric Cartman, toward the direction of Pip and Damien. From across the playground Pip could clearly see a change in Jacob's expression. His gray eyes, of which had thus far shown only coldness, seemed to gleam with surprise, soon followed by anger and determination. His eyebrows furrowed downwards, and his shoulders visibly went stiff. Pip glanced up towards Damien. He stared back at Jacob with a mocking, enticing grin. His dark red eyes seemed to have a hint of anticipated amusement.

_Something_, Pip thought, _is about to happen. And I can't help but think it will be bad._

Jacob made a beeline towards Pip and the Anti-Christ, fists clenched. Eric Cartman, who was never one for being ignored, grabbed hold of Jacob's jacket from behind and yanked him backwards. Jacob, in retaliation, took one of his clenched fists and struck the large boy in his upper chest.

Pip had never known Eric Cartman on a personal level, but he had heard things about him. And one of these things was that he may act tough, but he would absolutely break down in tears should he ever be struck. He had heard once that Kyle Broflovski had barely hit the young boy after he insulted his brother, and he completely broke into tears.

And that, precisely, is what had happened here.

"Leave me alone and keep out of my business! If I want nothing to do with you, then you will respect that and leave me be!" he shouted. Eric Cartman sat there and cried. Stan, Kyle, and Kenny all cheered on and commended Jacob for his actions, and Kyle went on even further by laughing at Cartman. Jacob, however, turned around and made his way back towards Pip and Damien.

Damien, for once, turned towards Pip and said briefly, "Pip, let Jacob and me talk. Don't interrupt." Pip, having no idea what was going on, simply complied and waited for the event to unfold.

"So we finally found you." Jacob said, "Although I can't really understand why you would want to hide here of all places."

"It's one of many, although I must say I'm impressed that you managed to find me."

"You can thank Micah for that. Said he had a gut feeling about this town."

"Well, you can tell that shoeless, pot-smoking son of a bitch to not get too comfy. I don't plan on staying here for too long." Damien said mockingly. Jacob's eyebrows furrowed yet again, and took a clenched right fist and lurched it towards Damien. Pip didn't see how, perhaps he wasn't paying close enough attention, but somehow Jacob missed, and Damien ended up behind him. Damien, acting quickly, took Jacob's free arm, held it to his back and pinned him to the brick wall. "And you can also tell him this_; stay out_ of South Park."

And with that said, Damien vanished. Jacob pushed himself from the wall, and turned his gaze towards Pip.

Anger. Pure, unadulterated anger. His chest was heaving up and down, nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily, his fists were still clenched, face twisted in anger. He reached out and grabbed hold of Pip's tailored jacket and yanked the boy up to eye level.

And the bell rang. Recess was over, and Pip, for a short while, would be safe. Jacob let go of his jacket, and Pip stumbled as he regained his footing. Jacob, along with many other children, walked past Pip, brushing his shoulder roughly against the other as he walked past. Pip was frightened. Something was happening between Damien and Jacob and his party, and whatever it was it seemed to be getting more and more intense between them.

And he couldn't help but think that somehow, sometime soon, he was going to end up getting involved in all this mess. Soon Pip was the only one outside of school. Well, one of. There was always the Goth Kids, who rarely ever went to class. The one with the red and black hair one day went to class and ended up preaching about how conformist school was and how everyone else will lose all their individuality the more and more they went to class. Pip knew of this because his classroom was right next to the Red Goth's, and because he sat in the back he could every word that the boy shouted through muffling walls.

But the Goth Kids were nowhere to be found, and that made Pip feel all the more alone, and ultimately, all the more frightened. He hurried up the stairs and into the school, quickly scurrying back to the classroom. There, sitting at his desk, was Jacob. His eyes stared with intensity towards Pip, eyebrows indented with anger. He looked like he could, or more likely would, kill Pip if given the chance. For a brief moment, Pip stood in the doorway, contemplating whether he should go in or run to find somewhere to hide. When he was pushed abruptly into the room by Stanley Marsh, there was no option to hide. If he were to run out now, his efforts would go noticed by Mr. Garrison and conflict would ensue.

So Pip took the more peaceful, although far more fearful, road and walked to his desk. He could feel Jacob's gaze burning holes in him. A lump was forming in his throat; he was so scared he wanted to cry. For once he was glad his hair was longer than most of the boys' in his class, and that the school had no rules about wearing hats in class. For if his hair been any shorter, or it be mandatory for all students to not wear hats during class, everyone would have noticed the fear Pip was experiencing. And, knowing his luck, this would result in Pip being called a "European Pansy" or something to that extent.

Heaven forbid.

There was only one class before lunch. And after lunch there would only be two more classes, and then Pip would be free to go home for the day. He could manage that. Sure, that couldn't be too hard. After all, Pip had dealt with far worse things, right? He managed to deal with being set on fire. Being stared at with seemingly murderous intent should be nothing compared to being lit on fire. Yes, if he could deal with that he could deal with this.

Pip considered it a blessing that Cartman decided to pick arguments with Mr. Garrison throughout the entire class. For with the teacher having no focus to read, it gave the students an excuse to have no focus as well. While Cartman and Mr. Garrison argued back and forth about some matter Pip simply didn't have the heart to pay attention to, Pip was free to try and find ways to pass his time. He tried staring out the window; but one can only watch a thick blanket of dull gray roll overhead and numerous cars drive by for so long. He tried to listen to others' conversations, but then his gentlemanly conscience reminded him that it was rude to listen in on what others were saying, and he quickly stopped. He wouldn't dare look over to the left, or he would risk looking at Jacob and his frightening stares.

All that was really left for Pip to do, honestly, was to read. He might as well, anyway. If no one else was going to bother and read, it would at least put him ahead of the class. By now, had Cartman not been arguing with Mr. Garrison, the class would have been reading about how the main character, Orual, had tricked her sister Istra (who was often called Psyche by her sisters and teacher) into looking at her husband, something that was earlier mentioned to be forbidden to the sister by her husband. Her husband, as it turned out, was a god, and therefore not meant to be seen by a mortal.

As Pip continued to read, he learned of how Psyche's magnificent house came crumbling down, the gods rejected her and she became banished. Through the eyes and ears of Orual he learned that she would travel dangerous roads, hunger and thirst. She would suffer before she regained her redemption to her husband. But what stuck out the most to Pip was not the details of the sister's suffering, but what the god had said to Orual;

"_You, woman, shall also be Psyche._"

This puzzled Pip. How could one character be another while the other was still alive? Literally, it made no sense. _Perhaps_, Pip thought, _the god was speaking in a more figurative sense_. And if he spoke figuratively to her, then what was he alluding to? How would Orual become like Psyche?

Would she suffer like Psyche was to suffer? Would she go through hardships? Or would she gain everything she ever wanted and be tricked into losing it all in the end?

The lunch bell rang, and Pip's deep thoughts halted. He could save his thoughts for later; now he was in the need of a meal to fill his belly so that he could manage to focus. Deep thoughts and worrying, as it turned out, was quite a way to make one's self hungry.

He made his way through the halls towards the cafeteria. The room itself was wide, spacious and welcoming. The bright lights, the windows that let in what little light made it through the clouds, smells of various foods, the tables filled with children talking and laughing and enjoying the others' company, even the posters promoting healthy food choices seemed to draw one in.

He took a tray and got in line. Today they seemed to be serving some kind of casserole. At least it looked like a casserole. The food in school, as nice as it smelled sometimes, had declined in taste and quality after Chef had died. And to his grave he took with him all the quality the cafeteria's cooking had to offer. But he wouldn't complain; it's better to eat something absolutely horrible than to eat absolutely nothing at all, right? Not long after being served his serving of…whatever it was, getting himself a carton of milk and checking with the lunch lady that managed finances, Pip took his seat.

He sat by himself, in a corner away from the rest of the children. He always sat by himself, with the one exception of when Damien was enrolled at South Park Elementary. Besides, the other children had openly shown their dislike for him, so there would be no sense in pushing that dislike further by annoying them with his presence. He took a forkful of the casserole and ate it. It was chewy and cheesy, with flakes of some kind of crumbles, noodles and most likely ham. It wasn't the best thing he's ever had, but it wasn't the worst either.

"May I sit here?" asked a voice with a certain Southern dialect. Jacob Heiden. He stood before Pip with a brown sack lunch in his left hand and a milk carton in the other. Pip wondered if he should give him permission to sit with him. After all, he was associated with Micah, who Damien said he had to avoid or else he would die. He also held him by his collar, and had been given Pip cold and angry glares all the day long. Jacob scared him.

But, in a way, he also felt some sympathies towards the boy. He was new and hadn't a friend at school yet. Those who expressed an interest in him earlier had tossed him aside like a pair of dirty, old socks and he was alone. Pip could sympathize with that loneliness he might have been feeling. Plus, if Pip could make friends with the boy, maybe he would cease in giving him death glares.

"Of course, Jacob. You're welcome here," he said in a welcoming manner. Jacob took his seat across from Pip and emptied out the sack. A sandwich and a red, round apple. A meager lunch, in all honesty, but at the same time a healthy, staple one.

"How do you know him?" Jacob asked.

"Who?"

"Him. That son of a damned bitch. The Anti-Christ."

"Oh, well we were friends for a brief while. He came to our class like you did, and I was just about the only person who accepted him. Everyone else pegged him for some kind of Biblical nut job or something like that."

"Why would you want to be friends with _him_? Don't you have any idea who he is or what he's done?"

"I know Damien is the Anti-Christ, that much is certain. However, I don't really care for all the details. Damien is my friend, if he wanted to tell me something he could tell me. It's not my place to ask him things he may not want to tell me. After all, who wants a friend that goes prodding into one's personal life?"

"Did you know that hell spawn bastard is responsible for why I had to leave White House?"

"We don't communicate on a regular basis, so I have no idea as to what you're talking about. In fact I hadn't heard from him in the longest time until yesterday. I had seen him several times throughout the day, but wrote it off as my imagination playing tricks on me until he finally showed up in front of me again. I was baffled in all honesty, believe you me. I do offer my condolences though; I understand how difficult it is to move from one's home to a different area. Believe it or not, I was originally from England."

"Thank you, I suppose. So would you say you and the Anti-Christ are good friends?"

Pip had to think about this momentarily. _Were_ he and Damien good friends? Damien was his only friend after he had moved to South Park. He had lost all contact with the likes of his brother-in-law Joe, his old friend Pocket from Statfordshire had died from Hepatitis B, not to mention Estella. With those ties severed, he was all alone. And for a brief moment, when Damien and he were friends, he didn't have that loneliness. Plus, in more recent events, Damien had come back, in a way. He warned him of events to come and people he should avoid, or else he would die, and trusted Pip enough to tell him about Micah and anyone or anything he is involved with. So, it would only stand to reason that they were, in fact friends.

"Yes, I suppose you could say Damien and I are good friends. You could even go as far as to say that he is my best friend."

Jacob chuckled a little. "You honestly have no idea what you could be signing yourself up for, do you?" Pip was confused. And Jacob, apparently, noticed. "Does the idea that he's related to the Devil- Satan himself- not compute with you? How do you know he's not using you or something? What if down the road you or someone you care about, like your mom or dad, is in trouble? Like on the verge of death? And he's the cause of it? Will you still consider him to be your friend then?"

Before Pip had the chance to answer, the second lunch bell hang rung, signaling the end of lunchtime and time for classes to resume. Jacob rose from his seat and walked away, Pip following suit not long after. He walked back to the classroom and sat in his desk chair, thinking over Jacob's words. Pip wondered if Jacob might have somehow known about the time he was lit on fire. Damien lit him on fire and laid him at the mercy of demons, and Pip still considered the boy to be his friend. After all, that's what friends do, right? They forgive each other when one wrongs the other. Damien had wronged him and Pip had forgiven him. That was the end of it, right?

Damien did consider Pip to be a friend as well, right?

He found it very hard to focus on class work. He couldn't think about his mathematics or history with this on his mind. Before he had known it, the final bell had rung, and school was over. Now was the time to go home. As he packed his things into his bag, he came to a conclusion; rather than worry about it all day, Pip would simply ask Damien if he considered them friends the next time he spoke with him. With his things in his bag he was set to walk his way home, and made his way out of South Park Elementary.

He had made is as far as across the school grounds when something had hit him in the head, the front-right side of his head to be exact. It was big and hard, and when it struck Pip it had knocked him down to the concrete sidewalk below.

He laid there on the ground. His head was in pain. It felt like he couldn't move, or even cry out in pain. The sounds were loud, clashing together and making no sense at all, and everything he was able to see seemed to blur together.

The last thing Pip Pirrup saw was blurred images of what looked like people's feet, and then his mind faded away into the comforting darkness and welcoming silence of his subconscious.

* * *

**Hello, I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are nice, and I know you're all really nice people.**


	4. The Horrible Abduction of Pip Pirrup

**Greetings and salutations, friends! How are we all today? Good? Great!**

**_I, EranthyaeNoire, have in no way, shape, or form ownership of South Park. The likes of which, including setting, characters, and any specific events mentioned in this fanfiction belong to the likes of Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I, personally, own only this fanfiction and any OCs, or Original Characters, that may take part in this fanfiction. Once again, I repeat that I do not own South Park._**

**Series: South Park**

**Rating: M for Mature. Such reasons include language, dark and/or suggestive themes, violence/gore, character death, and adult-like scenarios/concepts. Reader's discretion is advised. **

**Pairing: DamienxPip

* * *

**His head was in the throws of throbbing pain. As Pip slowly regained his consciousness, he became more and more aware of the horrid pain he was feeling on the front-left side of his head. It was dull and lingering, yet the pain itself was nothing to look over. It was dominant and enduring, and made focusing on his whereabouts a difficult matter.

What happened?

Where was he?

How long had he been unconscious?

He lifted his head, groaning in slight pain as he opened his eyes. As his eyes adjusted to the setting around him, Pip familiarized himself with his whereabouts. He was in what looked like the lobby of an old building. The floors were wooden, covered in dust and strange dark stains. Windows were broken, by the looks of it from the outside, given that there were shards of glass on the floor. The lights were either busted or turned off, for the only lights were a small fire in an old, banged-up metal trash can to his right and the moonlight from outside the broken windows. The room itself was almost empty, yet there were signs of recent disturbance.

There were scratch marks on the floor, as well as lines in the dust, from where a table had been moved from the center of the room to across the floor near the edge of the right wall, awfully close to the trash can fire. There were several chairs that aligned the wall, some by the table. Oddly enough, there were two mattresses, decorated with a mismatch assortment of blankets and pillows. And, even stranger, there were two baby monitors. One seemed to be the listening monitor, as the lights changed back and forth. The other looked like the recording monitor, making Pip wonder if they were of a matching set.

He made an effort to get up, but had no avail. He looked down; his body was tied to a chair, hands tied behind his back and feet tied to the legs of the wooden chair. A wave of fear washed over Pip, and he became frantic. He tried to untie the knotted rope on his hands. He tried to move around. He looked for something he could use to perhaps untie himself. All of which, sadly, did nothing for Pip.

He was frightened. He was so frightened he wanted to cry. He could feel lumps in his throat forming. What was going on? Why was he here? And just who was it that took him?

…Would he _die_ here?

He heard a door creak, and Pip's heartbeat skyrocketed. His fear consumed him, and he turned towards the door.

Blond hair, partially bulled back. Blue, melancholic eyes. White Shirt, white layered skirt, flower-decorated sandals. He had seen her before. She was in the green van the other day, with Micah and Jacob. Her name…it was Mirabelle, wasn't it? On her hip, clinging to her shirt and resting on her shoulder, was the infant that was with her previously.

She took a brief glance at him, and stopped. The two of them stared at each other for moments; Pip had no idea how long. The silence shared was still and uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to speak to her, to plea for her assistance in his escape, but before he could utter a sound, she raised a finger to her lips in a "keep quiet" manner. She then pointed to the infant, who was fast asleep.

She didn't want him to make a sound because it would wake the baby; that much he understood. He couldn't, however, figure out if it meant that she was going to help him or not. And so Pip closed his mouth. She quickly walked down a small flight of wooden stairs, which creaked beneath her feet. She walked toward the two mattresses, and crouched down. She bent down and placed the infant on the mattress, covering him with some of the nearby blankets. She turned away from Pip and rummaged through something on the other side of the mattress, out of Pip's sight. When she turned back, he saw a small box. She flipped it upside down and twisted a small turnkey, and then opened the box.

A lullaby began to play from the box. She laid down next to the baby, and let him grab hold of her pointer finger with his little fist. As the music box played its melody, she sang along softly.

"_Il était une petite poule noire  
Qui allait pondre dans l'armoire  
Pondait un petit coco  
Que l'enfant mangeait tout chaud_"

French. Pip felt a growing dislike for her the more he heard her sing verses of the lullaby for the baby. Why would she go and sing something to a baby in such a horrendous language as French anyway? He didn't like the French. They were a longstanding rival and enemy to his homeland, and as far as patriotism went, Pip did not like the French or anything to do with them. Not even their lullabies.

He waited for her to finally stop. And, eventually, she did. But she didn't rise from the mattress. Instead, she stayed by the baby's side. He waited. And waited. And then he waited some more, but she would not rise up from the mattress.

Pip hung his head. It seemed like he wasn't going to get out. At least not through the means of that French-singing tart anyway.

It felt like hours. He had no idea just how long it was, but as he sat there time seemed to go on forever. There was nothing but him, that girl, the baby and the lingering silence shared between the three of them. Why was he here? Why was she here? How far was he from South Park? How long-

The door creaked open again. Pip's head jerked up.

Jacob.

He and Pip stared at each other, and Jacob turned away. He walked over to Mirabelle, crouched down by her and shook her shoulder slightly. She groaned a little as she got up, confirming that she had previously been resting. He leaned in and whispered something to her, and in response she nodded. She rose from the mattress, and took in her arms the infant. The baby whined as he was woken, but was soon pacified by Mirabelle's soft hushes. And with the baby in her arms, she left.

Jacob walked over to Pip, hands in his pockets.

"Jacob! Jacob—please. I-I don't know how I-"he stammered before being struck in the face. He was shocked. Why would Jacob do that?

"Where is the Anti-Christ?" he asked. His voice was as cold as his eyes always were. Pip was confused and scared. _Damien_. He was in this situation because of _Damien_? The throb in his head and the newly given one on the side of his face seemed to be proof of that. But why? Why did they want Damien?

"Answer me!"

"I-I don't know!" Pip was struck again, this time with a closed fist. That would leave a bruise, and he was pretty sure that knocked one of his teeth loose. It hurt. He wanted to cry. He was scared out of his wits' end and was in pain, and all he wanted to do was cry.

The cycle went on several times, with Jacob demanding the whereabouts of Damien, and Pip in turn being struck in some way for telling the honest truth that Jacob did not believe. Pip was starting to understand what Damien said yesterday (given that it was still Wednesday) that if he wasn't careful, he would die. Pip wasn't careful, and how he was here. He was in some old, decrepit place inhabited by these…_psychopaths_, and getting the living hell beaten out of him for information he simply did not have.

He wanted to die. If this was going to be it for him, he began to hope that death would just come already. He was tired of silently crying and spitting up blood, being delivered new bruises at the hands of someone the same age as him, and sitting in this room tried to a chair with no idea whatsoever about how far he was from home.

"Where the fuck is the Anti-Christ!" Jacob bellowed. His face was scrunched up in so much rage, eyes burning with a destructive passion and fists balled up so much he was probably forming small crescent-shaped cuts on his palms from his fingernails. He was a picture of perfect anger.

Not that Pip was one too talk. With a stabbing, stinging cut on his forehead from where he was struck with an unknown object earlier, the bruises, busted lip and swollen eye that he had received within his time with Jacob, to the rope burns taking their toll on Pip's wrists, he looked like the poster child for mugging victims. There were small drops of blood on his white collar from where his lip had busted, and his hat had fallen to the floor long ago. His jacket was all dusty on the left side from where the chair had toppled over, leaving his left arm and shoulder in pain. He was pulled back up, but not without a swift kick in the stomach, leaving Pip short of breath. All in all, Pip wasn't looking at his best right now. And right now, in that very moment, from the depths of his heart and soul, he was praying if it could happen, if God or any omniscient, omnipotent being was in his favor, that a miracle would happen and it would _all just stop_.

"Jacob! That's enough!" said a familiar voice in a no way familiar tone. It was too demanding, nothing like the lax manner he had heard before. Jacob turned, and Pip lifted his head slightly toward the voice.

Micah. He walked down to Jacob and Pip. He knelt down to Pip's eye level. He looked at him, and then to Jacob, then to Pip again, dropped his head, heaved a quick and heavy sigh, and glanced back at Jacob. "You've done more than enough, Jacob. Go wash that blood off your hands and find a room to sleep in. I _don't_ want you near the boy for the rest of the night. We're going to have a talk about this in the morning. Understood?" Jacob's head nodded slightly, and with a quick turn of the heel he marched away like a soldier, arms stiff at his side and fists still clenched. Micah and Pip both watched as the boy walked across the room, up the small flight of stairs and out of the room. He shut the door with a distinct slam, but it creaked back open not long after he left the room.

Micah again heaved an aggravated sigh, scratched his head and turned towards Pip. "Let's get you cleaned up, shall we? You look like you had it pretty rough." He reached out towards Pip, and Pip, still in a frightened state, did his best to pull away from Micah. Micah pulled his hands away from Pip. He stared at Pip, his eyes almost seeming apologetic about his previous gesture. "It's okay; I'm not going to hurt you." He smiled kindly, and it made Pip feel a bit better. "Jacob did not have my permission to do that, I can assure you. I will find out why he acted without my permission though. I can't have this kind of behavior." He wasn't like the kind goofball from before. He talked with composure and determination, and acted far more grown up. "How about after we get you cleaned up, we get you something to eat? I need to have a little talk with you anyway, so we might as well get you in better shape beforehand. Now I'm about to untie you, but I don't want you running off."

Pip's feeling of security suddenly went away. "N-no. Please, just let me go home. Please." he said, lumps forming in his throat again and tears coming to his eyes, "I won't tell. I won't-" He was interrupted by the sound of Micah soothingly and reassuringly hushing him.

"It's okay, little man. I don't mean it in a bad way," he said, and then pointing towards Pip's feet, "You got rope burns on your ankles. There's blood seeping through those socks. If you run and try to get away, you'll only fall and hurt yourself. In fact, I'm gonna carry you on my back so we don't risk that, okay?"

His offer seemed sincere. Micah in general seemed like a kind, sincere young man, and it brought Pip a sense of security in the midst of terror. Besides, he was in pain and bleeding from a busted lip, and the young man was offering to help him get cleaned up and even give him a meal. It sounded like an offer too good to be true, especially after the ordeal he had just gone through.

Maybe God or some other omniscient being was watching out for him, after all. He nodded slightly, and Micah smiled. He bent further down, and untied his legs from the chair. It hurt; there was a distinct stinging sensation coming from his ankles the moment the ropes were removed. He didn't want to move them, they hurt so much.

"W-where are we?" Pip asked, voice slightly hoarse.

"An old hotel. I think it's called the Galveston Lodge or something like that." Micah said as he rose to his feet and went around to the back of the chair. Pip felt the ropes become looser, and as they did he was able to breathe deep for the first time in who knows how long. His hands were free, and he felt the similar stinging pain in his wrists as he felt in his ankles. His arms were sore from being behind his back for so long, and it took a little more effort than usual for Pip to move his arms. But with arms, body and ankles free, Pip felt a little bit relaxed, safe even. He bent down and rested his head on his knees.

And he broke into tears. He couldn't control himself. He held it in for too long; the physical pain, the psychological pain, the emotional pain. He was bloodied and bruised, scared for his life and wanting, craving even, for his adoptive mother and father. He wanted to be home in South Park so much it hurt. Next to this terrifying experience, the things he put up with everyday at school were a blessing. He was wanted it all back, even the teasing and spit. And all the while, he wept and cried. He brought his rope burned hands to his face and rested his head in them. His back shook as he cried, his chest shook in uneven spasms as he tried to catch his breath, and his voice was cracking from crying for so long.

Micah did nothing but place a firm hand on Pip's back, rubbing it back and forth in a comforting "It's going to be okay" manner. He waited patiently until Pip's crying finally came to an end, and once Pip regained his composure he went in front of Pip, turned his back to him and knelt down.

"C'mon, little man." he said. Pip climbed onto his back and wrapped his arms around Micah's neck. Micah, in turn, took hold of Pip's legs and held onto them both as he stood up. He walked up the small flight of stairs and out of the door. They came into a hall, and Micah took them left. He walked down a while, until they've reached a room midway down the hall on the right-hand side. It looked very much like an old hotel room. There was a bathroom to the right, and further in the room was a bed. The main comforter was gone, but the sheets remained intact with one of the pillows. Micah walked into the bathroom and placed Pip on the counter. He walked out and into the room, and came back with a small box in one hand and a brown, plastic bottle in the other. A first-aid kit and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, by the looks of it. He placed them on the other side of the counter and opened the box, and then unscrewed the bottle cap. He took a cotton ball from the box and poured peroxide onto it. This was going to hurt.

"Now this is going to hurt just a little, but it'll stop any infections getting in that noggin of yours." he explained. He brushed Pip's hair out of his face and pressed it to the scabbing wound. Pip winced in pain and pulled away, but Micah only pushed it further. "It's either this or you get some kind of infection that turns your brain to mush. Now hold still, little man." Pip, reluctantly, obeyed.

By the end of it all, he had the wound on his forehead bandaged, his busted lip cleaned out and clotted, the rope burns on his wrists and ankles cleaned and wrapped up, and a very loose baby tooth removed and tucked away in his pocket for when (and if) he got home. Micah, taking the plastic wrap that surrounded the paper cups in the room's bathroom, exited momentarily and came back with it filled with snow. Pip applied it to the swollen eye, and he began to feel immediate relief.

He still looked like the poster child for a mugging victim, but now he was at least on the mend.

"There. Now that we got you all fixed up, let's take you to get a bite to eat." Micah said as he bent down for Pip to climb back on to his back, and Pip likewise climbed on and wrapped his arms around the young man's neck. Once Pip was safely secure on Micah's back, Micah walked them out of the room and back down the hall, turning left toward where the lobby was. They walked past the lobby, and into a room right next to it. It was, by the looks of it, all that remained of the old hotel's buffet room. There were tables, some put on top of the others, and chairs in stacks lining the walls. It was dark in there, there were no lights on or windows to provide natural light. The only source of light was what came through the door, and it was partially blocked with Micah and Pip standing in the door. There were two coolers, one small and blue and the other large and red, in the center of the room, accompanied by a stack of paper plates and cups and a box of plastic spoons, forks and knives. He walked in and placed Pip on the floor, and sat down in front of him with his legs crossed.

"So, how do you like your sandwiches? We got the stuff to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and the stuff to make a ham and cheese sandwich. Which one do you like more?"

"P-peanut butter and jelly, please." Pip replied, voice becoming a tad bit dry as raspy as he spoke. Micah collected from the large cooler the bread, peanut butter and jelly, and gathered a plate and a plastic knife as well. He spread the peanut butter on one piece of bread, and grape jelly on the other piece. He put them together on the paper plate, and turned to the blue cooler. He pulled from it a small, metal canister. It looked like the cheap, second-hand version of a kind of soda. He placed it, and the paper plate with the sandwich, in front of Pip.

Pip was overcome with a sudden hunger that he was not previously aware of. He took the sandwich and ate it eagerly. It tasted so good. He was never one for peanut butter before, but now it tasted phenomenal. After being tied to a chair for who knows how long, punched and smacked in the face so much his lip was busted that the only taste he knew was the one of blood, peanut butter and grape jelly was like a gift of the gods. He devoured it quickly, and soon went for the second-hand soda. It was delicious. It was nowhere as near as wondrous as a cup of hot tea, but it was simply wonderful. It moistened his dry throat, and made it all the easier to finish his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. His belly was full, and it left Pip feeling a little bit better.

"Feel better?"

"Yes. Thank you very much," Pip said as he wiped his mouth, "It is most appreciated."

"Good to hear. Now, come on. I got something I need to talk with you about something." Micah replied as he got to his feet, helping Pip along as he climbed onto the other's back, "You good?"

"Yes, sir." And with that, Micah walked out of the dark room, Pip in tow. He hummed some kind of tune as he walked back into the lobby, down the small flight of stairs and over to the mattresses with the medley of blankets and pillows. He sat Pip down, and walked over to a small satchel. He pulled out from it two large manila folders. He walked back to Pip, sat down in front of him with his legs crossed, opened the two folders and dumped their contents onto the mattress. From what Pip could see, with the light from the fire in the trash can, it was pictures and newspaper clippings of various men and women. One picture in particular caught his eye, and he leaned forward and picked it up.

Black hair, dark red eyes, clad head to toe in dark clothing. This was a picture of _Damien_.

"I see you found a familiar face. Is there anyone else here that you may know?" Micah asked. Pip managed to pry his eyes from the photograph of Damien and looked around; he saw men and women of varying age and ethnicities. None of them, however, looked the slightest bit familiar. He shook his head, and turned his gaze back to the image of Damien. He was standing on a corner, holding and umbrella and, by the looks of it, conversing with an older woman. Pip couldn't figure out why, but he found it hard to put down the photograph, much less look away. "So you know the Anti-Christ?"

"He was my first friend after I moved from England to America. You could say he's my best friend, even. People in small, secluded towns like South Park don't necessarily accept those who are different or foreign. I guess that was one thing we had in common." Pip said, "Who are all these other people?"

"They're a lot like Damien. We believe that they are other children of Satan. Some are embodiments of the Seven Sins; others we suspect may even be the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Some we have no idea who they may be or even if they're involved with the likes of Satan, but we're keeping an eye on them just in case." Micah explained as he pointed to a picture of a young man with glasses, "Like this man here. Everywhere he goes people manage to get horribly ill, or infestations of insects and rodents occupy wherever he goes. Therefore we are under suspect that he may be the Horseman of Pestilence."

"Pestilence?"

"It means sickness."

"Why are you watching them all?" Pip asked.

Micah sat up, fixing his composure and breathing in deeply. He pushed his shaggy brown hair out of the way and looked solely at Pip. Pip could feel his staring, and raised his eyes from the photograph to look back at him.

"Do you believe in destiny, Pip?"

Pip shrugged his shoulders. He didn't necessarily believe in things such as destiny, but he didn't exactly reject the idea of it either.

"Well, you see, a while back, a couple of years at least, I was involved in something that put me on the verge of death. I can vaguely remember not being dead, but not being alive either. I recall a dark place, and I heard a voice speak to me. The voice gave me a choice; I could either die and go onto the afterlife with my mom and dad, or I could come back to life and fulfill a 'Divine Plan' of sorts that was set out for me. I was told that when I awoke, I would know what I was supposed to do. I was also told that I would gain, lose, rejoice and suffer, and that if I was successful, when I finally died I would leave the world in a much better state than when I was alive. He also told me that if I were to choose death, I would go to Hell like most of the world, including my parents. I, in my teenage cowardice and lifelong Christian fear of Hell, chose life.

"I was brought back to life in a hospital, where I had been in a coma for about two days. Soon I met Elijah, who not only helped me out of the hospital and back on my feet, but also aided me in my new found mission in life to find the children of Satan. I can't tell you a whole lot about him; he doesn't really like to talk. But I can tell you that he is one of the most reliable people I've ever met in my life, and that he seemed to be on the same mission in life as me. We found that old van toured the continent in it, searching for the children of Satan."

"What about the others? Jacob, Mirabelle and that baby?" Pip intervened.

"I met Mirabelle about two years ago, not long after I started my mission. She was a sweet girl from this little Cajun town in Louisiana. Jeanerette, I think was the name. Real pretty place, once you get past the humidity. She lived there with her mother and her father and her little sister in this cute little house. She had a hell of a voice too. Still does. It sounds so pretty to listen to, even if most the time I have no idea what she sings about. At the time I was shadowing someone I now suspect to be the embodiment of Wrath. We got to know each other after a while, and boy did we ever fall in love. She was, and still is if you ask me, the prettiest, most tenderhearted Cajun girl to ever sing a French lullaby. But, apparently, her daddy did something to make the embodiment of Wrath madder than Hell, and he killed everyone in the house. He tied up Mirabelle's mom, dad and little sister, and did all sorts of horrible stuff to them. I remember; they were shot, cut, beaten and burned with what looked like cigarettes. The dad got his tongue cut out and drowned in his own blood. Not one of them survived. Mirabelle was with me that night, so she was spared that awful death. But it tore her up, and she was never the same. Losing her whole family like that destroyed her; I think she's still trying to recover from it.

"Jacob, who I met about five months ago, was living in this little town called White House. It was about forty minutes away from Nashville, because the when we caught wind of your friend there momentarily before he headed up North." he said, pointing to the picture in Pip's hand, "Your friend seemed to befriended him like he did you. Jacob invited him to his house to spend the night, and woke up to the sound of his grandmother screaming. His father had died; he was torn apart by some kind of…_monster_ Damien called forth on the house, and was going for her next. Damien was no where to be found. Jacob snuck out his back window and ran all the way down the street into town. He lived on a farm a few miles away from town, and by the time he got to the outskirts his feet were tore up and bleeding, and his face was stained from where he was crying and sweating. He found Elijah first, who then got me and Mirabelle. By the time we had gotten there, his grandmother and dad were both gone, and so was the monster Damien summoned. We couldn't find Damien anywhere in the house either. We offered him to come with us, and he agreed. He cried a lot at first like Mirabelle did, but he eventually turned to anger. And I don't think it's done yet. I think he's mad at your friend Damien for what he did to his family. Mirabelle is too, but I think she is more consumed with mourning and sadness than the anger Jacob has. And I don't think either of them will be able to fully recover until those who were responsible for what happened to their families is brought to justice."

It was all starting to make sense to Pip. Jacob's anger, his eagerness to find Damien, the rage he lashes out when refused information about his whereabouts. And Mirabelle's sad eyes, French singing and closeness to that baby. But one thing remained that Pip did not yet understand.

"…What about the baby?" Pip asked. Micah fell silent, a shy, hesitant smile forming on his face. He twiddled his thumbs and looked away briefly.

"His name is Adam. And he's, um," he began, then silently finished, "mine and Mirabelle's…son." Pip could feel his face, neck and ears flare up when he heard the last four words. That baby, Adam, was the son of Micah and Mirabelle? But they were so young! They both seemed to be still teenagers! Weren't they far too young to be raising children just yet? "I know, I know. A bit young to be raising a family. Believe me, it wasn't intentional. We were both pretty scared when we found out she was pregnant. But now I'm glad to be a dad. I have a reason to live once I'm done with my mission, rather than just let myself die once I'm done. Not to mention he looks just like Mirabelle, except for the nose. He's got my nose. And when I fulfill my destiny of sorts and Mirabelle and I are both eighteen, I'm going to ask her to marry me. I'll take her to a rural town in a state of her choosing and we'll find a house, settle down and raise Adam. Jacob can live with us too, since he'll have nowhere to go. And we'll live happily ever after. But I can't do that just yet. I need to find the Anti-Christ. And a few others like him."

"I already told Jacob, I have no idea where Damien is," Pip said, voice becoming quieter, "So, please, can I go home now?"

Micah looked at Pip, his eyes losing that cool, calm, in control demeanor from before to be replaced with a more lax and regrettable one. He sighed softly and shook his head. Pip was shocked and scared all over again, every last bit of his sense of security and calmness ruined by Micah's response. His eyes began to well up again, his jaw trembled and his shoulders began shaking. "P-please! I won't tell anyone! I won't tell! I-I-"

"Pip, it's not whether or not you tell anyone that I'm deciding to keep you here. You're going to be kept here because Damien seems to know where _you _are. We watched you for two days, and every time the Anti-Christ appeared, he came to you, not you to him. So, if Elijah's theory holds out, in time he should come to you. Once we have him, you'll be free to go. You can go back to your adoptive family and school and live like all of this never even happened. If fact I'd think it best that you forget all about us and your friend Damien once you do. In the meantime we will take care of you like you were one of our own; we will feed you, watch out for you, and give you a place to stay. If you need anything that requires going into town, you can talk to me or Elijah and one of us will get it for you. And keep this in mind; you're in an abandoned hotel a good forty minute drive from town. So you'll be looking at about a two hour, maybe longer, walk from here to the closest town. And out there are predators, both animal and human, and I would _hate_ it if either had gotten their hold on you. I'm sorry, Pip, I truly am, but I absolutely cannot afford to let you leave just yet."

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**Is it sad that I scared myself and made myself a little sad writing this chapter? My God, I'm such a baby. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, I'll be working hard to get the next chapter up for you guys!**


	5. A Grand Escape

**My, my! It's certainly been a while, hasn't it? No matter, we have a new chapter now!  
**

**_I, EranthyaeNoire, have in no way, shape, or form ownership of South Park. The likes of which, including setting, characters, and any specific events mentioned in this fanfiction belong to the likes of Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I, personally, own only this fanfiction and any OCs, or Original Characters, that may take part in this fanfiction. Once again, I repeat that I do not own South Park._**

**Series: South Park**

**Rating: M for Mature. Such reasons include language, dark and/or suggestive themes, violence/gore, character death, and adult-like scenarios/concepts. Reader's discretion is advised. **

**Pairing: DamienxPip

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**The first night Pip stayed in the abandoned Galveston Lodge with Micah and company, he cried. He cried out of fear. He cried for the feelings of hopelessness and isolation he had. And, in time, he cried himself into sleep.

By the fourth day, he lost his voice. Not physically losing his voice, no. He could talk if he wanted to. But that was the thing. By the fourth day of his stay there, he lost all will to speak. He had found there was no need for it. Things, such as food, were brought to him on a regular basis three times a day. The room he was confined to had a bathroom, so there was no need to go elsewhere. He was given back his backpack, so if he wanted something to do other than sleep or stare into nothing, he could read. Talking had become a needless chore.

After losing his will to speak, he soon felt his need for escape slip away too. He had been aware of his situation for a while now. The room they had put him in was on the second floor on the back side of hotel, far to the right of the outside deck that overviewed the lake. It was at least a thirty foot drop, and at the bottom was a mixture of rock and soil hardened by the cold. And in terms of the inside of the building, Pip found out early on that the man known as Elijah was not too far down the hall from the room he was in. Pip had heard Micah come by his room a while to talk with him. He heard Micah clearly. Elijah, however, he could not hear utter a word. He was quiet with an intimidating feel about him. He was the one who had brought Pip to his room. He was tall and broad, with big hands with large knuckles. His large coat made him seem even bigger than he really was. He never spoke a word, but seemed to communicate with Pip through a series of glares and gestures. And this lack of speaking made Pip all the more afraid of him.

If Pip's fear of the giant man was not enough to keep him put, then the fact that the floors creaked beneath him when he walked would be. Any attempt to walk out would be immediately caught and stopped. Pip was defeated; there was no way for him to escape the Galveston Lodge. And with a loss of will to escape and will to speak, Pip succumbed to hopelessness. The days and nights seemed to have blended together, and in what felt like no time at all was in reality almost three weeks. He had been in this personal hell, his own Hotel California, for almost three weeks. This place, in Pip's circumstances, was just like the hotel in the song "Hotel California". He was allowed to stay, but never allowed to leave.

He hoped that Damien would come to him already. It had almost been three weeks since Pip had seen him last, and he was beginning to wonder if he ever would see him again. He probably wouldn't. It didn't sound like Damien at all to come to see Pip if he was being held all for the sake of luring the Anti-Christ into Micah and company's hands. It would be all too easy, and Pip knew Damien to be smarter than that.

But, still, it would be nice to see him again. He terribly missed the darkly-clad boy.

He laid in the bed, staring at the light outside the window. It was bright and calming, lighting the room with a natural glow. There was no need for lights. They didn't work anyway. The skies must have been clear today. If only he could be outside to see it for himself. If only he was at school with all the other children. He was beginning to miss the awkwardness of school and the cruelty of other children. Compared to abduction, being beaten terribly and held against his will for someone who will probably never come, his treatment at school was considerately better. A blessing, even. He missed it all. The other children, the teacher and his questionable methods, recess, lunch, everything. And if he hadn't lost it all, he would have hoped that someday he would get to go back to all of it.

He heard a knocking at the door. It occurred in sets of threes, fast and a little above quiet. His thoughts were interrupted. After coming to his senses, he sat up, stretched, and walked over to the door. He opened it, and there, at the doorway, was Micah. With a sandwich, knockoff soda and what looked like an apple. Oh. It was noon already? "May I come in?" he asked. Pip nodded, and stepped aside for the teenager to come in. Micah walked in and set the lunch on the bedside stand, and walked over to the desk by the window. He sat down in the chair there, and motioned for Pip to take a seat. And, likewise, Pip sat down on the bed.

"How're you holding up, little man?" he asked. Pip, in actuality, was miserable. But he couldn't tell him that, so instead he simply shrugged his shoulders. Micah nodded, as if understanding the meaning of the gesture. "That's good. Is there anything we can do for you?"

_You can let me go. Damien's obviously not going to come_, he thought. He wanted to say this. Oh God, how he wanted to say it, but instead he shook his head. There was no point in voicing what he wanted if he knew that there was no way it was going to happen.

"Well, is there anything I can get for you? It's my turn to head into town, so I figured I'd ask if you if there was anything you needed." Again, Pip answered him with a shake of his head. It was terribly rude and ungentlemanly of him to act this way, but Pip was beginning to dislike the young man the more he stayed here. Why was he trying so hard to be nice? He was holding Pip here against his will for the hopes of Damien being foolish enough to come to him. Pip wasn't the brightest person in his class, but even he could see the lack of common sense in Micah's intentions. He had begun to wonder if Micah was aware of this lack of common sense or not.

Micah rose from the chair and placed his hands inside his jacket's pockets, and walked toward the door. When he reached the door, he stopped and turned to Pip. "Well, it was nice talking to you. Have a good rest of the day, little man." he said, "Hope you enjoy the lunch. I made it myself." And with that said, he left Pip alone in the room.

He looked toward the bedside stand, and the food that sat there. He wasn't hungry, nor was he thirsty. Pip decided to leave it be and laid back down on the bed. It would be there when he was ready for it; there was no need to rush. Besides, the comforts of the mattress and pillow were far more enticing than the idea of eating. Body on the mattress, head on the pillow, Pip could feel a nap coming along.

But the sound of a soda can being opened disrupted the lull of sleep. Pip jerked up and turned to the bedside stand.

There, with an opened soda can in his hands, was the Anti-Christ himself, Damien. Pip couldn't believe it. He was finally here. After three weeks, he was finally here. A feeling of happiness and excitement welled up inside him. He was so happy he could feel his eyes start to fill up with tears of some unknown emotion. Pip opened his mouth, ready to finally say something to him, when Damien raised a hand. He brought it to his lips, signifying for him to keep quiet.

He pointed his thumb over his shoulder, and quietly mouthed one word. '_Elijah_'.

Oh. That's right. That man was across the hall, and if he heard Pip talking to Damien, he would catch on and come in. And if he came in, Damien would be caught. Damien reached into a back pocket of his pants and pulled out of it an envelope. He held it up to eye level and stared intently at Pip. Pip stared at it; it was plain and white. It was a simple envelope, like the kind one would find in a department store at a post office. He glanced back at Damien. His dark red eyes seemed different. Every other time that Pip had seen Damien his eyes had some kind of dark emotion behind it. Anger, cynicism, mocking, seriousness. Not now. This time was different. This time there was no emotion at all.

It was strange to see Damien's eyes so, well, different. Damien looked away and placed the envelope on the bed. Pip watched it fall onto the mattress, and when he glanced back up, Damien was gone. And he took the soda with him.

Pip stood there for a moment, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Did Damien really appear to him, or had his imagination made it up for him? He looked to the bedside stand. The soda was gone. He walked to the other side of the bed where the bedside stand was. It hadn't rolled off and fallen on the floor. He then looked to the envelope on the bed. It was still there. He bent down and picked it up. It was pretty lightweight, but he could feel something through the envelope. He opened it, and pulled out from it a small piece of paper. It looked like it was ripped from a memo pad or something similar to that. And on the small piece of paper was a small message.

_8:00 PM. Be ready to walk. Tear this up and flush the pieces._

_-Damien_

8:00 PM? Be ready to walk? He read the note over and over several times before the message finally sunk in. Damien was going to get him out of here. He was finally going to get to go home. He felt hopeful again, if only a little bit. He glanced toward the clock. 11:53 AM. His high spirits sunk a little. He had a little over eight hours before he could leave the Galveston Lodge. He sighed, folded the note twice and shoved it into his pants' pocket. He sat down on the bed, head in his hands. Eight hours seemed like _forever_ from now. How was he supposed to pass eight hours? He looked around the room; there was the bed and bedside stand, food on the bedside stand, there was a TV that didn't work, there was a window for which he could stare out of, and there was a small table stand with a lamp that didn't work and a chair. Near the door was a small closet. And that was all there was to the room.

_Not much to offer in terms of passing eight hours_, Pip thought, _Perhaps it would simply be best for me to sleep the hours away_. He laid his head down. The bed was in no way as soft and comforting as the one back home. This bed was stiff, as most hotel beds are, and the sheets had just begun to lose the starch stiffness. It made him yearn for his old bed, back in his room at his house with his adoptive mother and father. How he missed them, and how the thought of being reunited with them tonight excited him! The thought gave him a small smile as he pulled the covers over his body, laid his head against the pillow and closed his eyes.

He got still.

He got comfortable. Or at least as comfortable as he could be with this firm mattress.

He got warm.

And Pip Pirrup fell into a sleep. It was not a deep sleep, but it was sleep nonetheless. And that in itself would be better than nothing at all. He would drift in and out of consciousness, waking up periodically before falling back in to slumber. This had happened several times throughout the course of his resting. It would be small things that would bring him from the depths of sleep, such as creaks in the hall, a tree branch scratching against the window or the moving clouds letting sunlight into the room. And by the time he managed to wake up all the way, well over four hours had past.

He didn't dream. He hadn't been able to have a dream for well over two weeks now. He wished he could though. If he had been able to dream, his mind could produce for him strange and wondrous worlds, marvelous events or bring back fond memories. If he could dream, it would give him something to get his mind off his current situation. If he could dream, he could forget about being abducted, that night where he was beaten and bloodied, and the three weeks he had been locked up in this abandoned hotel. But, sadly, Pip could not dream. He laid there in the bed for a while, staring in to nothing and dozing in and out of consciousness, until finally sitting up.

He looked at the clock on the bedside stand. It was almost five o'clock. Three more hours to go. His stomach made noises, and the feeling of emptiness in his stomach became apparent. He crawled over to the other side of the bed to the bedside stand and took the sandwich that sat there. He took a bite. Ham and cheese today. It was warm and tasted a little strange. That was probably because he left it alone for four, almost five, hours. And once the sandwich was done with, next came the apple. It was moist and tart, with juice dribbling down his chin as he chewed on the crunchy, red fruit. Normally, had he been at home and not in this predicament, he wouldn't usually eat apples. He didn't really care for their tangy flavor, and bits of the fruit always managed to get stuck between his teeth. But now he had no second option. It was the apple or nothing. And "nothing" doesn't fill up a hungry belly.

When Pip was about halfway done with his apple, something caught his attention that caused him to stop.

Music; opera to be exact. It was faint, but Pip could hear it. The sounds of a choir singing foreign words harmoniously, echoing in the hall and through the walls. It was beautiful. He wanted to hear more of it. He rose from the bed and walked to the door. He opened it the slightest bit. He could hear it better. God, how beautiful it sounded. This was the sound of sophistication and culture. And it called to Pip like a Siren's call to sailors. And just like the sailors, Pip was enticed and drawn to it.

He opened the door more and walked out, slowly taking his steps as he followed the sound. The closer he got, the louder it became. He walked closer and closer until-

Elijah's room.

The music was coming from Elijah's room.

Pip stood there for a moment, contemplating to himself whether or not he should go further. Elijah was a terrifying bear of a man, and Pip didn't really want to cross paths with someone so frightening. But, surely, someone who appreciates opera is sophisticated, and therefore gentlemanly, right? And a true gentleman would never lose control of his composure, right? But, then again, if Pip was wrong, and Elijah wasn't gentlemanly, and he upset the man by barging into his room, what would become of the situation? His mind brought back the incident with Jacob. That boy was completely horrific with a terrible temper. Would Elijah be anything like that? If he was, Pip did not want to upset the man with intrusion.

Perhaps it would be best if he just went back to his room and listened to the music from there? It wouldn't be as loud as he would like it to, but he would still be able to hear it and not upset Elijah. Yes, that would definitely be the best option.

"Excuse me?" a voice beckoned him, causing the poor boy to nearly jump out his skin in fright. With a sharp turn he saw a familiar face. Standing before him, clad in white, baby Adam in her arms was Mirabelle.

That was the first time she spoke directly to him. It had been three weeks, and this was the first time. They had crossed paths earlier before, but they never spoke to each other. She would bring him his meals a few times, but she never spoke to him. Now that he heard her speak, he noticed her voice was soft and raspy. One would think she didn't talk much based on her voice.

"You're name's Pip…right?" she asked. Pip gave a short nod in response. "Would you like to go in, Cher? I don't think Elijah would mind the company."

"O-oh, thank you. But I-I think I'll head back to my room. Sorry to have bothered you, ma'am." he responded apologetically before making his way past her. He heard her heave a weary sigh.

"Y'all don't have to stay in there if you don't want to, Cher." She seemed to like called Pip "Cher". No doubt something to do with that horrid Cajun-French background of hers. For all he knew, she could be insulting him by calling him that. "Why don't you come in? It ain't good for someone to stay cooped up so long by themselves anyhow. We don't want you acting like a zombie, now do we?" She held out her free hand to him, waiting for Pip to take it.

Pip really didn't like her, but her offer was tempting. And it didn't help that she spoke to him so nicely. He was finding it difficult to dislike someone who was so nice to him. And with the sound of choir voices though the door further pushed that temptation. And as much as he didn't like this Cajun-French tart, she did have a point. He had been secluded for far too long. It was beginning to take a toll on his gentlemanly behavior, and he was becoming to be more and more barbaric. His companions and acquaintances back in England would weep if they could see how far he had fallen in the ways of sophistication.

"Very well, I shall accompany you, ma'am." he said, "Let me get the door for you." She smiled a little smile. It contrasted far too much with her sad eyes. He turned away from her and brought his hand to the door. He paused, and turned back. "Should I knock before we enter?" She smiled again.

"Well ain't you a little gentleman? If y'all think so, then by all means, Cher." She said, her Southern accent becoming more and more prominent as she spoke. She turned to the baby in her arms, who was currently gnawing on his own fingers, "Maybe I should have him teach you some manners. Then you could teach them to your Papa. Papa would be so proud to see his little boy acting so much like a gentleman." She was a bit strange, and she always seemed sad, but she was nice. And, although Pip didn't really want to admit it, it was nice that she admired his gentlemanly behavior. Maybe this Cajun-French tart wasn't as dislikeable as he first believed her to be.

He knocked on the door once, twice, thrice times. Amongst the sounds of choir singing he head the sounds of grunting and heavy scuffling feet. The door opened the slightest bit, and through the crack Pip saw the shoulder and part of the face of the tall, frightening man known as Elijah. His eyes glared down at Pip with intensity so great it could very well burn holes right through him. Pip froze where he stood. He was scared to move and scared to speak.

_I should have just stayed back in the room_, he thought to himself, the back of his neck and tips of his ears burning up in nervousness.

"Hello, Elijah. May we keep you company for a while and listen to your music?" Mirabelle spoke up, possibly noticing the fear that had paralyzed Pip and stepping in for him. "And don't you worry about the boy. I shall keep my eye on him." Her eyes were sad, her smiles were warm, and apparently, when she wanted to, she spoke with a stern tone. Mirabelle was definitely strange. Elijah stared at Pip, and then at Mirabelle, and finally shut the door. Pip felt his shoulders drop a little in disappointment. It would seem that he wouldn't get to listen to the beautiful music after all.

What's this?

The door opened all the way, and in the doorway stood Elijah. He stepped aside, allowing the two of them, three if the baby Adam was included, inside. Mirabelle walked right in, not at all intimidated or shaken by Elijah's frightening appearance. She was probably used it. She had been around Elijah much longer, and probably had come to terms with his scariness. If only Pip had been as fortunate. His feet were planted to the ground and his body felt stiff. What should he do? Should he go inside or should he run back to the room they were keeping him in.

Right now, the later seemed of the two seemed really good.

"Hey, something going on up here?" asked another voice as Pip felt a sudden weight on the top of his head. He looked to his left, and standing beside him, posture lax and arm resting on his head, was none other than the supposed leader or this abducting caravan, Micah. "Nice to see you out of that room for once. What brings you back to the world of the living?"

"I-I heard music from my room, and I wanted to know where it was coming from." Pip confessed. Micah removed his arm from the top of Pip's head and suddenly moved it to his back. He pushed him further and further into the room.

"Well then, why don't you go in and sit down? You've been cooped up in that room too long, it can't be healthy." Micah said happily, "Well, it's my turn to make dinner tonight. Who all's hungry? Pip, how 'bout you?"

"Oh, I just ate the lunch you left me earlier today not too long ago. Thank you."

"'Kay. Who else? Raise your hand if you're ready to eat." Mirabelle raised hers, but Elijah did not. "All right. So make something for Mirabelle and me, probably Jacob too. And it should be right about time to feed Adam, so dinner for four…? Yeah, four." he said to himself before looking back at everyone else, "Be back in a few with dinner. You guys enjoy yourselves without me." With that said Micah spun around and walked down the hallway in a careless, lackadaisical manner. He hummed an unknown, happy tune as he walked, and Pip stood there in the doorway and listened to it until he was gone.

He was pulled into the room, and the door shut behind him. Elijah walked past him and further into the room. Like most rooms in the Galveston Lodge, the room consisted of a bed, a TV that didn't work, a desk with a chair, lamps that didn't work, a window and a bathroom at the front of the room. There were, however, some alterations to Elijah's room. The bed was untouched, as if never even slept in once during the stay here. The wall the desk sat in front of was decorated with scraps of paper and photos. No doubt more about Damien and other supposed children of Satan. The desk itself had several things placed onto it; a candle stand with two half-burned candles, a small box, a small stack of books a journal with a pen, an assortment of records, and an old, scratched up wooden record player. And that record player, as it turned out, was the source of the music he had heard earlier that evening. It wasn't playing now, though. The record had finished playing its recorded songs.

Elijah walked over to the record player, lifted the record from the player, and flipped it over. He put everything in order and turned up the volume. Whereas earlier it played the song of a choir singing some opera song, now it was nothing more than a cello playing. Pip knew this song. He had heard it before. It was composed by Bach, and done quite beautifully at that. The music flowed so flawlessly and sounded so beautifully. It was the sound of sophistication, and Pip yearned for more and more of this glorious sound. It pulled at his heart and left him feeling moved in ways he did not understand completely.

"Why don't you sit down, Cher?" Mirabelle asked as she patted the mattress she was sitting on. And not one to defy a lady's request, Pip sat down. The bed itself was stiff, which made it all the more believable that Elijah did not sleep in the bed. Did he sleep at all? "Elijah, where did you find that old record player and all of these records? Did y'all find them somewhere in town?" Elijah nodded.

He sat down in the chair; one leg crossed over the other, and picked up a book from the small stack on the desk. It was hardcover and dark blue in color. The spine of the book was decorated in gold colored designs and letters, as was the front. The pages, from where Pip's point of view, were browned with old age.

With the music playing, the candlelight giving limited vision, the stack of books next to him, and sitting back in such a manner reading such an old book, Elijah bore the air of sophistication about him. If Pip had never met the man before, he would think of him as some gentleman of upper-level society. Or at least an individual raised with both the divine education of the elite and the humble humility of the working man.

His attention to Elijah was distracted when he heard the outcry of the infant and a tug on his sleeve. He turned to his left to see Adam standing on his feet, holding onto his sleeve as his wobbly legs stood their ground, and with his free arm reached up for Pip's hair. The little baby's smile was so bright and warm, albeit toothless, that it brought a small stir of joy to Pip.

"Hello there, Adam," Pip said to the baby, taking the reaching hand and shaking it slightly, "Taken and interest in my hair, have we?" The baby cooed happily in response. He looked away from Pip for a moment, let go of his sleeve, fell down to his knees and began to crawl away. Pip, curious as to what suddenly caught the baby's attention, turned and looked.

Standing there at the edge of the bed, with three paper plates, all with sandwiches, on one arm and a small jar of baby food and a plastic spoon in the other hand, stood Adam's father, Micah. He placed the plates down on the bed, and with the free arm scooped up his son. "Hey, buddy! Ready to eat?" He spun around and sat abruptly on the bed, bouncing down before crossing legs and placing the baby in his lap. After struggling to finally open the jar of baby food, Micah began spoon-feeding the infant in rather peculiar ways.

He would open his mouth and wait for the baby to do the same. He would move the spoon around, making airplane noises, and then bring it to the baby to eat. He would make train noises and bring it in slowly. It was strange, yet amusing, to watch. Micah was a strange young man, with strange habits and a strange state of mind, but he seemed to be a pretty good father. It seemed to balance all out.

"Hey, Elijah!" said Micah excitedly, "Have you seen Jacob today?" Elijah lifted his gaze from the old book and shook his head briefly before returning back to the book. Micah made some kind of face, somewhere between disappointment and frustration, and turned back towards Adam. "Where could he be, Adam? Do you know?"

"He's probably off somewhere by himself. He does that a lot," Mirabelle suggested.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Micah went quiet for a moment, sitting still. It was like he was thinking about something. It was a bit peculiar to see someone usually so cheery and outgoing to be so still and quiet. "Mirabelle," he spoke, "Will you take Pip back to his room and stay here with Elijah?"

"Of course, Cher. Is something wrong?"

"It's probably nothing, but I got this feeling something's not right. I mean, if Jacob wanted to go off by himself for a while, wouldn't he come find one of us first?" Micah got up, holding little Adam in his arms, "Be back in a jiffy. I'll coming knocking on the doors when I find him." He walked over to Mirabelle, knelt down and handed her the baby, got back up and placed his hands in his jacket pockets and walked out the room. He shut the door behind him.

Adam made a fussy noise, to which Mirabelle hushed quietly and held him close. She got up and walked toward the door, turning to Pip and motioning her hands in a "come here" manner. Pip was slowly but surely becoming more and more confused. What was wrong? So no one knew where Jacob was; was it really such a bad thing? This place was an abandoned hotel for goodness sakes! He could be just about anywhere. And couldn't there be the possibility that he simply forgot to tell someone? It was all a bit confusing. He rose from the bed and walked toward Mirabelle, who took hold of his arm with a firm grip, and followed her out of the room.

She walked quickly, pulling Pip along by his wrist. It was rather painful to be dragged along by one's wrist, but Pip wasn't going to say anything about it. They weren't all that far from the room they were keeping him in. It would all be over in a few moments. She stopped suddenly, and Pip, who was still moving when she stopped, bumped into her.

She was frozen where she stood. Her grip on his wrist was so tight it could possibly break his wrist. It was painful. He looked past her. There was nothing there. The hallway was empty. Why did she stop if there was nothing there? She stomped her foot down, the sound of something crunching coming from underneath her sandals. She turned her foot left and right several times, as if making sure whatever was under her foot was definitely squished.

She started to walk again, pulling Pip along once again. Pip looked over his shoulder, curious as to what it could have been that had Mirabelle frozen where she stood, and what it was that she squished with her foot. He saw something small, about the size of one of his fingers, golden-brown in color and its body shattered and squished.

It was a cockroach. She got that startled over a _cockroach_? What could be so bad about a cockroach? By the tight grip on his wrist and the heightened speed of her walking, it would seem that cockroaches were bad. He continued to look over his shoulder at the poor bug as she continued to pull him along to his room. When they had finally reached his room, she let go of his wrist and opened the door, and stepped aside for him to enter the room. He looked into the room and then back at Mirabelle. Her usually sad eyes seemed full of fear now. She was holding Adam very close to her. Her shoulders seemed to be quivering slightly. What on earth could have her so scared?

"Is something the matter?" Pip asked. She didn't answer him, but instead took one of her arms from her son and pointed it into the room. She wasn't going to tell him what was going on. And she wanted him inside the room.

"D-don't come out until Micah knocks on the door." she said stammeringly. Her voice was small and frightened. Whatever that had the poor girl this frightened must be bad. Not wanting to upset her further, he willingly went into the room.

"Thank you," he said before shutting the door. He heard her footsteps become fainter as she briskly walked away from the door; presumably back to Elijah's room. He sighed as he turned around and walked back into the room. He sat down on the bed, and turned to the bedside stand. It was just a little past six o'clock according to the clock on the stand.

_Two hours to go_.

He laid back onto the bed, and thoughts started to come into his mind. Why did that small cockroach startle Mirabelle so much? Could she be scared of bugs? But that wouldn't explain why she was so scared. If she was just scared of bugs she would have gotten over seeing a cockroach easier. Would she have even squashed it with her shoe in the first place? Probably not. Whenever the girls in his glass saw a bug, they would scream and try to maintain a distance from it. Mirabelle squashed it with her sandals. So she couldn't have been scared of the bug.

So why was she so scared?

…Could it have something to do with Damien coming in two hours? Did they know about that? Did the cockroach have something to do with Damien?

A small moving thing out of the corner of his vision disrupted his thoughts. He turned his head, and saw crawling on the wall a cockroach. Just like the other one he saw in the hall, it was golden-brown in color and about the size of one of his fingers. It cascaded up the wall slowly in a strange little path, twisting and turning ever so often. It turned around, so its head was facing the ground. Its head twisted upward.

It was strange. Call Pip crazy, but it almost looked like the bug was _staring_ at him. Pip stared back, a bit surprised by the bug sitting so still on the wall and staring at him. This was strange. Not _South Park _strange, but definitely strange in its own sense.

The cockroach looked away from Pip and began walking back down the wall again. Pip crawled over to the edge of the bed as he watched it crawled down the wall, onto the floor and scour away. Pip, having nothing to do for the next two hours and becoming a bit curious about the peculiar little bug, got off the bed to walk behind it. He followed it as it scurried about the floor, across the room and up the wall by the window. It went up against the glass, and on the other side Pip saw something else.

A small body. Dirty, brown fur, small ears, a narrow nose, little claws and a long bare tail. A rat. There was a rat on the other side of the window. How did it get to the ledge of the window? The room was on the second floor and the walls outside didn't seem capable of being climbed. There was a tree with a few limbs close to the window; could the rat have gotten to the window that way? The cockroach scratched against the window, and not long after the rat turned around and jumped to the nearest tree branch.

It missed. The poor thing.

Pip looked out the window, trying his best to see the ground. He wondered if the poor thing could have survived that fall. It was unlikely; it was such a large drop and that rat was such a small thing. He was surprised- no, shocked- to see that the rat not only managed to survive the fall, but was running away like it was nothing at all. Its small, brown body stuck out like a sore thumb in the white snow, running away until he couldn't see it anymore.

He turned his gaze back to the cockroach, which was now crawling back down the wall. He followed it across the wall and into the bathroom. It crawled up the toilet, into the toilet, and then went down the drain. Would it be able to breathe in the water? The bug wasn't going to drown, was it? Pip then remembered that cockroaches were pretty indestructible creatures, being able of living even in the most extreme of circumstances. They could live with limited food and in intense heat and cold, with or without all their limbs; they could even survive a nuclear holocaust. So it would stand to reason that they could survive crawling down a toilet drain. With this newfound confidence in the small creature's survival, Pip walked out the bathroom and back into the room.

According the clock on the bedside stand, Pip had about an hour and forty minutes until Damien was supposedly getting him out of here. He couldn't help but wonder _just how_ Damien was planning on doing so. Would it be something along the lines of burning the place to the ground? Would he somehow find a way to simply sneak him out from underneath Micah and company's supervision? Did the rat and the cockroach have anything to do with this?

Did Damien even intend on helping him escape? Or was it simply raising his hopes and then leaving him hanging? He couldn't really tell with Damien. He was the Anti-Christ, after all. Being the son of Satan doesn't really confirm a well defined moral compass. This was the same person who set him on fire in the third grade. Could he really trust Damien to be true to his word and get him out of here?

No. No, he couldn't think like that. He couldn't allow himself to think those things about Damien. Damien was his _friend_ after all. And friends help each other out, right? Yes, he was the Anti-Christ and all, but surely Damien wouldn't raise Pip's hopes up like that. Especially after warning him about Micah and his company before. Yes, he had to be willing to help out Pip. Having convinced himself of this self-proclaimed truth, Pip felt a rush of relief.

Something moved out of the corner of his vision, and that rush of relief simmered into nothing, and was replaced with a startling sensation. His breath hitched as he quickly glanced over. There, in a corner, sitting in the chair that was once by the desk, with one leg crossed over the other and hands folded over, was the dark-clothed Anti-Christ, Damien. He had something in his hand, and another thing in his lap. The first object seemed to be a felt-tip marker, or something like that. The other, the one in his lap, seemed to be some kind of white board.

Pip opened his mouth to speak to Damien, only to be interrupted by a hand raised, and his voice died in his throat. Damien then looked away from him and wrote something on the board. He turned it to Pip.

_Don't talk. Go to the closet._

Pip was confused, but he obeyed anyway. He walked to the closet and opened the door. There was nothing in front of him but an ironing board, a few empty clothes hangers and—what's this? Down at the bottom of the closet was a small plastic device. It resembled a walkie-talkie, but Pip knew what it was. He had seen several of these his first night here at the Galveston Lodge. It was a baby monitor. And by the looks of it, it was the one of the two-piece set that caught all sound and sent it to the other. They were able of listening to Pip, and he didn't even know about it. He picked it up and looked to Damien. Damien had something different written on the board now.

_Put that thing down. Get the hell over here._

Pip obeyed. He placed down the baby monitor, slowly closed the closet door, and walked back over to the edge of the bed, and sat down. Damien wrote something new.

_We'll be able to leave in about an hour or so._ So Damien really was going to get him out of here. Thank Goodness. Damien leaned over to glance out the window, and then leaned back into the chair. He wrote again. _Have you learned anything about them?_ Pip thought for a moment. Did he know anything about them? He knew that Micah was a strange fellow, and a supposed "savior" of sorts, according to him anyway. He knew that Adam was his and Mirabelle's son. He knew that he took Mirabelle and Jacob in after losing families to Damien and his supposed siblings. He knew Jacob was a psychopath in the making and Mirabelle was a Cajun-French tart he didn't really like. And then there was Elijah. He knew nothing on him.

Could he really tell Damien any of this? His shoulders dropped, and Pip, although he did not want to, shook his head. Damien looked at him with a blank stare that seemed to go through him. Pip felt a little bit ashamed that he couldn't tell him anything. He looked back at Damien, who had written something new on the board.

_Did you learn anything about me?_

Pip learned that Damien had siblings. And that these siblings, according to Micah, were the Horsemen of the Apocalypse and the Seven Deadly Sins. He learned that Damien was responsible for why Jacob was with Micah, and quite possibly why he was the psychopath he was today. Could he really let Damien know that he knew any of these things about him? Did Damien even want him to know about those things in the first place? Every other time Damien came to Pip, he didn't let him know a whole lot. He probably wouldn't want Pip to know any of that. If Pip were to tell Damien any of those things, who knows what could happen? Damien could not want to consider Pip his friend anymore. Pip, not wanting to risk that, decided to himself to not tell Damien any of the things he learned about him. And for a second time, Pip shook his head.

_Liar_. The word was written clear as day on the board. Pip felt a pang of guilt, and hung his head in shame. He was being an awful friend to Damien. Perhaps Damien wanted the truth. And he denied him that.

A swift, sudden, and dull pain snapped Pip out of the depths of his guilt trip. He rubbed the back of his head as he glanced up at Damien. He had something written on the board.

_Stop that._ The words were clear as day, but it took Pip a moment to grasp the message. Damien didn't want him to worry about it. It was relieving to learn, but confusing at the same time. He knew that Pip was lying to him, but didn't want him to feel guilty about it. It was strange. If anything, wouldn't Damien want him to feel guilty about it?

Unless, maybe… he didn't want Pip to feel about it. Because, well, that's what friends do for each other, right? They don't want each other to feel bad. Maybe, in some way, this was Damien's method of reassurance and comfort. It hurt a bit, but it would be better than being guilty. A smile tugged at his lips, and Pip nodded in acceptance. He wouldn't feel guilty about it if Damien didn't want him to be.

A slight rapture came from the other side of the window. Damien rose from the chair and walked to the window. Pip could see him grin that devilish smirk of his. Something was happening in his favor. He stepped aside and motioned for Pip to come stand near the window. Pip got up and stood next to him, and almost didn't believe what he saw.

There was an elevating tower of sorts forming below on the ground, composed of cockroaches and rats. Things had just passed over into _South Park_ weird. Damien walked past him, but Pip's gaze was fixated on the parasite pillar forming outside his window. Was this going to be their method of escape? Climbing down a tower of rats and cockroaches and hoping that they don't get caught?

It sounded…plausible. It was better than nothing.

But Damien seemed capable of teleportation. Couldn't he just teleport them out of here? Unless, maybe, Damien could, but Pip couldn't. And so to get him out of the hotel, he had to use a more atypical, menial method. Yes, that had to be it.

…But how did he get the cockroaches and rats to do his bidding?

Before Pip's mind could come up with an answer for his many questions, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Damien, using his free hand to motion Pip to stand back. And, eager to finally get out of this God-forsaken Galveston Lodge, Pip did as Damien instructed. He stood back. He looked around, and glanced back at the bed. Sitting in the middle of the pillows was the white board, with a new, and final, message from Damien.

_Dear Micah,_

_I win again. I've taken Pip as my prize. Fuck you._

_-Damien_

The message was short and crude. Pip could feel the animosity behind the words. Especially in the last sentence. He glanced over at the clock. The time was almost seven o'clock. By the looks of it, they would be leaving at least an hour early. That's good. The sooner he could leave this wretched place and go home, the better. And if it meant that they would leave an hour earlier than Damien intended them to leave, then by Jove, let it be so!

A small sound from outside made this newfound determined emotion sink to the depths of his stomach and make his body jolt in shock. It was the sound of the floor creaking outside the room. He looked to the door, and then over to Damien.

Oh. Damien wasn't there anymore. He glanced over to the bed. The white board with Damien's message, however, was. Acting fast, he took the board and hid it underneath one of the pillows. For further measure, he sat on the bed, in front of the pillow. The door opened.

Micah walked in. His head was hung, his shoulders stooped and hands buried into his jacket pockets. Something was wrong. There was no pep in his walk or that bright, joyful aura that seemed to usually bask from the young man. There was a distinct depression about him now. When he walked closer to Pip, Pip could see tears forming in the young man's eyes. Micah was crying? What could have happened?

"Pip," he began, "I need you to be honest to me. Can you do that? Please?" Pip nodded. "Good. Now, something is wrong with Jacob. He's in a lot of pain and coughing up blood. And Mirabelle just told me that Adam's getting fussy and coming down with an awful fever. You wouldn't know anything about why that's happening, would you?" Pip shook his head. "Are you sure? Please, Pip, this is my son and someone who is like a little brother to me. I can't bear the thought of either one of them being in any kind of pain. So, if you know why this is happening, I need you to tell me."

"I-I don't know." Pip said softly.

"But I do."

Both Pip and Micah turned to see Damien, who had unbeknownst to them reappeared silently. He was standing on the other side of the bed, arms crossed, and a dark look in his eye and a smug grin on his face. Micah rose up to his feet and wiped his face quickly. He seemed surprised. "Stomach hemorrhages can be painful, can't they?"

"What?"

"I wonder how long a baby can last with a case of pneumonia. Probably not long." Every word he spoke was adorned with insult and mockery. Was Damien referring to Jacob and Adam? Was Damien _responsible_ for what was happening to Jacob and Adam? "I'm not the one that did this to them, if that's what you're thinking. Not my jurisdiction. But I could make it stop."

"What's the catch?" Micah replied, voice stiffened with seriousness. It was clear it wasn't his first time dealing with people like Damien or situations like this.

"You're catching on quick. You must not be stoned right now," Damien said mockingly before sitting down, "I find my demands to be rather negotiable. Simple enough for you to obey them. All you have to do is hand over the boy," he paused to point to Pip, "and get the fuck out of South Park. I personally don't give a shit after that; it won't be my problem anymore. But if I don't get the boy and get out of here in the next five fucking minutes, your friend Jacob will be first to go. If I don't get the hell out of here within ten minutes, your son will be next. One by one. Your precious Mirabelle would be next after the children."

Damien was ruthless when it came to negotiations. He didn't mess around and made it more than clear he was more than willing to put lives at risk for what he wanted. Was this the Anti-Christ in him or just his idea of negotiating with Micah?

Micah gritted his teeth, clenched his fists and looked down at his striped sock-covered feet. This was his decision; would he risk and lose the lives of the person he loved, his child and someone he saw as a younger brother or would he let them go? It must have been a difficult decision to make. Pip didn't necessarily like Micah, especially after keeping him hostage for three weeks, but even he felt the smallest pang of pity for the young man.

"Fine. Deal. Go." he said, "Get out!"

"You heard the pot-head, Pip. Let's get going." Damien said, almost sounding pleasant. He walked over to Pip, pulled him up by his sleeve, and pulled the whiteboard out from where Pip had hidden it. He then handed it to Micah, who just stood there and stared at it. Pip kept his eyes on the poor man as Damien pulled him to the window and kicked it open. Micah's shoulders shook and he stooped to his knees. Was he crying? "Pip. Pay attention."

He turned around to see the cockroach and rat tower still outside the window. It leaned toward him, as if waiting for him to step out from the window and onto the animal and insect pillar. "Come on, dumbass!" He looked down at the ground. Damien was standing there, arms crossed impatiently. Pip took a double take, glancing back and forth between where Damien was on the ground and where he was before. After coming to terms with the facts that Damien was now on the ground, he took one leg out of the window. His foot was soon met with the rats and cockroaches.

This was it. After three weeks, Pip was finally going to be free.

He turned back to Micah, who was still silently sobbing on the ground. He felt sorry for the poor fellow, he truly did. "Micah?" There was no response. "I'm sorry it ended this way. I hope you find a nice house to raise Adam in someday." And with that said, Pip took that first step out of the Galveston Lodge. It began to sink beneath him, insects and rats both leaving the base of the tower and making it smaller. It continued like this until, at last, Pip's feet were reunited with the cold snow that surrounded the area.

He was finally out. Finally, after three long weeks, he was out. He took a deep breath. The air was fresh and crisp, fragranced with faint traces of pine and snow. It smelt a bit foreign. He had become accustomed to the slightly pungent scent of the hotel, but the scent of outdoors was so intoxicating he couldn't get enough of it. He would never take things like this for granted ever again.

"Come on." he heard Damien call out commandingly. He looked to see Damien further ahead of him, staring at him impatiently. Pip quickly ran to the other, like a pet running after its master He followed him around the hotel, and he followed him down the road. They walked like that for a long while, Damien taking the lead and Pip not long behind them. Neither spoke to each other for the longest time. The night sky overhead began to twinkle with the faint glow of far off stars. Crickets' chirping could be far off. Nighttime had come upon them.

"…Damien?" he called out, breaking the long enduring silence that had settled between them. Damien stopped walking and turned back to him. He never spoke back to Pip, but in the darkness Pip could faintly see a blank look in his eye. He was not silently telling him to shut up, nor was he verbally telling him to shut up, so Pip took this as permission to continue talking.

"I-I wanted to thank you for coming to get me. Thank you. Thank you very much." he said, voice starting to quiver, "I was scared I was never going to get out of there." He was starting to tear up. "It was very kind of you to come get me, even when you didn't have to. I appreciate it…I really, really do." He started to cry. He didn't really understand why. Maybe it was the overwhelming joy of being free from Micah and his company. Maybe it was the humble gratitude he felt to Damien. Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was neither, and instead something else he didn't know at the time. He raised a hand to his face and wiped tears from his eyes.

After all, what would Damien think of him if he watched him cry like a little child?

A sudden bright light blinded him. The sound of something coming to a stop rung in his ears. He looked up to see bright lights, with Damien standing in front of them. He looked so dark compared to the lights. Kind of fitting, with Damien being the Anti-Christ. It suited him and the basic image of an Anti-Christ. Even with bright lights behind him, Damien's eyes continued to pierce Pip with its foreign, blank gaze.

What were those lights coming from? The lights then dimmed, and Pip could clearly see a car. It was small and dark colored, probably dark blue or black. It didn't seem to have a top either.

He felt a gripping sensation on his wrist. He glanced down to see a hand on his wrist, pulling him forward. That hand was Damien's. He pulled him along, not speaking a word as he led the two of them to the car. Pip didn't understand why, but the feeling of Damien's hand…it was nice. It was a bit comforting, even if Damien probably didn't mean to imply it as such.

As they got closer, Pip could see two others in the car. In the driver's seat was a young man with shoulder length light brown hair. He wore an oddly decorated red shirt with the sleeved rolled up to his elbows and a pair of jeans. For some odd reason, he wore sunglasses as well. He sat laid back with one hand on the wheel, the other on the door of the car. The other next to him was about the same age as the first, with dark eyes and bright blond hair. With a brown bomber jacket, white tank shirt and khaki pants, he was a barrage of plain colors. His arms were crossed, one leg crossed over the other and a sour look on his face, one would assume that he didn't want to be there.

"Pip, this is Rocco Beelz," Damien pointed to the driver, "and Ludwig Krieger," he pointed to the other, "You could say they're my half-brothers. And they helped me get you out."

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**Holy. Shit. This thing was way too long. Thanks for putting up with me and this LONG, LONG chapter. I love you guys!**

**Here's some information about some things mentioned in this chapter that have may need further explanation:**

**1. "Cher", the nickname Mirabelle has given Pip, is a French term of endearment and affection. It means "dear".  
**

**2. The first song is "The Nightengale", a Russian opera composed by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky in 1889. It is usually performed by a choir, and as a somber, captivating feel to it.  
**

**3. The second song is "Cello Suite NO. 1 Prelude" a classical piece composed by Johann Sebastian Bach sometime between 1717-1723. It is sophisticated and I personally love the sound of the cello.  
**

**4. The book Elijah is reading is "The Unknown Quantity" by Henry Van Dyke, which was published in 1912. My great-grandmother left me her copy after her passing along with many other of her books, and so I used it for this chapter.**

**Well, that's about it for explanations. I'm going to be starting college really soon, so it may be a while before we get the next chapter up. I hope you'll have the patience to deal with me and my procrastination until then!  
**


	6. Tests of Patience

**Hello! Hello! Hello, everyone! How are you all? Are you ready for a brand new chapter? Because I sure am! Especially after being so caught up in college and having limited time to write! So let's get going now, yeah?  
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**_I, EranthyaeNoire, have in no way, shape, or form ownership of South Park. The likes of which, including setting, characters, and any specific events mentioned in this fanfiction belong to the likes of Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I, personally, own only this fanfiction and any OCs, or Original Characters, that may take part in this fanfiction. Once again, I repeat that I do not own South Park._**

**Series: South Park**

**Rating: M for Mature. Such reasons include language, dark and/or suggestive themes, violence/gore, character death, and adult-like scenarios/concepts. Reader's discretion is advised. **

**Pairing: DamienxPip

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**

Pip was drawn from the depths of sleep by a multitude of things. There was the rocking of the car as it drove. There were the lights that stood over the highway flashing by. There was the stiffness in his back from where he was sitting up. There was the breeze of the air blowing in his face as the car moved forward. There was the feeling of warmth on his hand and a stiff comfort underneath his cheek.

As Pip's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he glanced down. Pip's hand was held loosely by Damien's as the other slept. Pip looked over at the other, and was a bit surprised by how close they were together. Then Pip realized that he was leaning against the other, his head on his shoulder. He felt the tips of his ears burn up the slightest bit.

Oh dear. When did this happen?

"Look who's awake, Luddie."

Pip looked up to see the man Damien had introduced as Rocco Beelz grinning like a fox as he stared at him, arms crossed over and leaning toward from the front passenger seat. When did he and the other man up front switch seats? Rocco leaned forward and picked up something from the floor of the backseat.

It was a small guitar. Wait, weren't those called ukuleles? Why on earth would a child of Satan, the one Micah believed to be the Horseman of Pestilence, have a ukulele? "Hey, Luddie," Rocco began as he turned back around and propped his feet on the dashboard, "Do you have any requests?" There was no response from the other man, who seemed solely focused on driving. "Fine. No complaining later when I play something you don't like." He played with the ukulele, trying and tuning it until he found a chord he liked.

"_I'm a long way from home_

_And so all alone_

_Homesick like I'd never thought I'd be_

_I'm a long way from home_

_And everything wrong_

_Someone please watch over me_"

The words were all so sad, and it struck something inside of Pip. It reminded him a bit of his predicament. He was away from home, and he longed to be there. But he was going home, so that homesick feeling he felt would soon go away. He listened to the song until it stopped abruptly. The performer was quiet for a while before turning to the driver. "Ludwig, do you know the next verse?"

"Don't tell him." said a familiar voice. _Damien's_ voice. By the sound of it, he was now awake, if somewhat barely. There were also the slightest traces of hostility and annoyance, no doubt brought about by his sudden awakening.

"Morning, sleeping beauty. Did you and your," he paused, looking at Pip first confusingly, then smugly, "friend, sleep well?" Damien didn't answer, but instead gave the other an obscene hand gesture. Rocco gave one in return. "Yeah, right back at you, baby bro."

"Where the fuck are we? South Park wasn't all that far from that hotel." Damien said as he sat up.

"We're making a pit stop real quick. We'll take your friend home in the morning." Ludwig said in a monotonous manner. Damien groaned. Pip was confused.

"Where are we going?"

"Remember Lilia?" Rocco asked, "We're heading to her place."

"No, we're not," Damien retorted angrily, his grip on Pip's wrist intensifying a little, "I am not taking Pip to anywhere near that goddamned whore. Take him home _now._" Who was this Lilia? What was so awful about her that Damien didn't want Pip to meet her? Was she one of Damien's siblings? If so, just who was she?

"All of the children are gathering there. We need to discuss what we are going to do about the complications we are experiencing with the plan. As our brother of sorts, Damien, you are just as much needed there as we are. Your friend and getting him home will just have to be second on the to-do list." Ludwig replied, "We do not want to disappoint Father with disloyalty, do we?" Damien's grip worsened and it was beginning to hurt. Pip winced, but kept quiet.

"Does he even know what he's gotten himself into?" Rocco asked. Damien didn't answer. What? What was Pip involved in that he didn't know about? Was it to do with Damien was the Anti-Christ and his siblings were other important figures of Biblical lore? Did it have anything to do with Micah and his company? "He really doesn't, huh? Can you believe that Luddie? After all he's been through, Damien's still keeping the kid in the dark."

"He doesn't need to know anything." Damien said with a distinct anger in his voice, "Once he gets back home, it will no longer concern Pip. And the sooner we get him back home, the better."

"Au contraire, baby brother," Rocco said as he played a strum on the ukulele, "Be it today or a couple of years down the road, he'll find out. It'd be best to tell him now while you can." There was a brief quiet shared between the four of them, aside from the soft strums of ukulele strings played by Rocco.

"Pip." Damien said, turning to his friend. He turned to Pip, who in turn looked back. In the darkness of the night, brightened only by the orange glow passing interstate lamps, Damien's face glowered with seriousness. He took a deep breath and-

-the car jolted, and then swerved. "Fucking hell! What the hell was that?" Rocco quickly unbuckled his seat and turned around, facing the back of the car. "Ludwig! Pull us over now!" The car slowed down and pulled to the curb. Rocco hopped out and began inspecting his car, exclaiming loudly in frustration when he discovered the source of the problem. "No! No! No! _NO!_ Fucking hell, no! Oh, man!" He continued to spout about such nonsense as he angrily clenched his fists, kicked the ground and stormed around.

"What?"

"We busted a tire!"

"So? Just get a spare out the trunk." Damien said flatly.

"That _was _the spare! My poor baby's been handicapped!" Rocco shouted as he kicked the snow on the edge of the road. He then went back to the back right of the car, where the supposed flat tire resided. Pip watched from the back seat as the bespectacled man studied the tire with dire intent. He seemed lost in the depths of focus as he studied the car. Pip looked around. There wasn't any sign of life anywhere around them. There were no cars passing by on either end and no sign of any nearby towns. They were stranded in the wilderness on the edge of the interstate road.

How unfortunate.

When, unexpectedly, out of the corner of his eye he saw a faint glow growing brighter. He turned to the back of the car once more and was both surprised and delighted to see the headlights of an oncoming car coming their way. And, oh, _Jolly Good_, it seemed to be slowing down! Thank Heavens! Maybe things weren't as bad as they seemed to be.

Or, then again, maybe they were.

When the car came to a stop, Pip recognized it right away. An old, lime green colored vehicle decorated with rust and stickers, the front bearing the distinctive Volkswagen logo. It was _that_ car. Micah's van. "Pip! Get down!" Damien said in a hushed tone as he pushed Pip down into the floor of the car. Damien followed in suit. He heard a car door open and then slam shut. He heard footsteps. He heard another car door open and then shut. This one, however, came from the driver's seat where Ludwig was previously.

"Problem, gentlemen?" said a voice. Pip didn't recognize it. It was deep and scruffy sounding, yet also held a sense of eloquence about it. Who could it be?

"Yeah," Rocco said, standing up, "Got what looks like a bullet hole in the tire. You wouldn't have any idea how it got there, would you? Elijah?" Pip was surprised. That was Elijah? That's what he sounded like? Elijah was actually capable of speech?

"I may or may not be involved in the unfortunate circumstance of your vehicle. Although that will be the least of your worries, let me assure you." replied Elijah, "Now then, care to tell me where that bastard hell spawn you call your brother and his little friend have gone off to? It'd be rather troublesome to have to kill off you two and then spend the rest of the right searching aimlessly for two little boys. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, although be assured we aren't telling you. Believe it or not, that bastard hell spawn is vital to the plans," Ludwig said flatly, "As for his little friend, we can't tell you that either. Damien's rather attached to the boy, so letting any harm come to him would only result in the tedious chore of soothing one of Damien's tantrums. Rocco?"

"Yeah, Luddie?" Rocco replied, chuckling slightly. Pip heard the rustling of clothing and a metallic _click_, like the sound of something opening. He turned his head upward to see Rocco with a cigarette in hand, lighting it up and inhaling from it deeply.

"Blow it all in his face." Ludwig's voice, which up until this point had always sounded flat or aggravated, was now dripping with malice and sadism. Pip heard Rocco exhale loudly, but it was soon drowned out by a much louder sound. It was the sound of thousand of things buzzing in the air. Pip looked up again.

The orange lights of over the interstate had been blocked out. Flies, locus, beetles, wasps; hundreds of thousands of them filled the air, blocking the lights overhead and the stars in the sky. They came from Rocco's mouth, bellowing out into the sky from wherever they could have came from inside of him. Rocco seemed so casual about it, as if it was nothing special at all. Pip felt a hand pull on his jacket, and looked away to see Damien. "Come on!" he said as he opened the right side car door and led Pip out. Pip could hear Elijah's cries through the sounds of the insects and the crunching of snow beneath their feet. Damien led them into the woods, running fast with a firm grip on Pip's hand. And Pip followed.

Wait. What about Rocco? What about Ludwig? Was it right of them to just leave them there with Elijah?

"Damien!" Pip called out breathlessly, "Damien, please! Let's stop for a breather!" Damien's speed radically slowed until coming to a complete stop. He let go of the others hand and turned to face him. "Damien…was it right to just leave them like that?"

"They're fine. They're Horsemen, they can handle him." Damien responded. Horsemen? Horsemen of the Apocalypse?

"Horsemen?" Pip asked.

"Pestilence and War, respectively. Would you expect anything less for my brothers?" Damien asked, "I got a whole bunch of siblings. Half-siblings anyway. We all share the same father." _Father_. Pip had seen him once. The giant, red deity of evil known by many names, predominately Satan. He came to South Park several times, though Pip's best known memory of him was when Damien was still there. He had come to fight against Jesus in a boxing match, and purposefully threw in the towel to gain the money of the citizens of South Park. And not long after that, Damien left. Ludwig said that they were all involved in some kind of plan for their father.

Could this plan be the reason why Elijah, Micah and the others were chasing after them?

"Damien? Can you please tell me just what's going on?" he tried his best to sound firm to Damien, but to no avail did he succeed in sounding so. Instead, he sounded almost timid. He never really could sound firm with another, no matter how hard he tried. He was just too nice.

"You don't want to know. Trust me." Damien replied. Although he didn't show it, it secretly frustrated Pip that Damien was keeping him in the dark. He was held captive for three weeks, by Jove! That alone should let him know just what's going on! Oh, how upset he was becoming with the Anti-Christ! That was it. No more being the nice guy!

"As a matter of fact, I _do_ want to know. I was kidnapped and held captive, Damien! And in case you may have forgotten, I can't make a tower out of bugs and rodents like your brother or set things on fire with my mind like you! I was stuck there, scared out of my mind and had no idea how long I was going to be stuck there! I had honestly begun to think I was going to _die _in that God forsaken dump of a hotel! I was just waiting for it to happen when you came and got me! And now I'm in the middle of the woods somewhere with you and you're not telling me why the people who kidnapped _me_ to get to _you_ are on our tail. I think I bloody well have the right to know. So, please, start explaining!" His chest heaved up and down in his frustration. Those feelings of annoyance had subsided slightly after saying so much.

Hopefully Damien would understand, and let Pip in on what was really going on now.

The dark-haired other looked away from Pip briefly, and then turned back to him. His gaze was stern, cold and almost the slightest bit frustrated. "You really want to know?" Pip nodded. Damien heaved an exasperated sigh. "Damn it. Fine. But walk with me. We got to maintain a distance between us and Elijah." He began walking away, and Pip soon followed after him to walk side-by-side with him.

"Pip, you're a Christian, right?" Damien asked, to which Pip nodded, "So you go to church? And I assume that you've at least read some parts of the Bible?" Again, Pip nodded. "Do you know why my father is in Hell?"

"He opposed God, didn't he?"

"That's right. By refusing to praise Adam and Eve, God's creations, and thinking himself higher than that, he was cast down from Heaven and into Hell. My father became angry with God and resented him, and saw it upon himself to take away from God that which he loved most; humans, along with the very world God had made. And then, once the world had abandoned God, he would break free from Hell and claim the world as his own.

"You know how I'm the Anti-Christ?" Pip nodded. "Well, as the Anti-Christ, I have a duty to fulfill to my Father to help him achieve this goal. Me and the rest of my brothers and sisters, anyway. There's me as the Anti-Christ. Rocco, Ludwig and one other sibling I've never met who are the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. There's the Seven Deadly Sins, of which only two I've met before. Then there's Lilia, my older half-sister. In this whole scheme, she's what's known as the Whore of Babylon."

"I thought there were four Horsemen." Pip muttered.

"There are. Death is the only one of us that's not a child of Father. Death has been around as long as the Universe itself, or at least as long as there's life in the Universe. None of us have had the chance to meet Death yet, as the plan had never gotten as far enough for him to get involved. But I digress. It all starts with the Seven Deadly Sins. They scour the earth and corrupt its inhabitants. We need them drawn away from the idea of God and righteousness. Sex, money, power, fame, fuck, even laziness. It makes everything easier."

"Makes what easier, Damien?" Pip asked. Damien looked at the other. His eyes had that blank look they had earlier, and left Pip feeling just the slightest bit unsettled inside.

"Ragnarok. The End of Days. The Apocalypse," he said, "Where the world finally succumbs to my Father and he becomes free. The world will go out in ash and death, and everything that God had made will be taken by my Father and redone the way he sees it. But, there's only one problem. Every time we tried to bring about the Apocalypse, and we've tried several times throughout history, we were stopped." He paused, the look on his face insinuating that he was contemplating whether or not to go further. "Every time we tried to bring about Apocalypse and free my father, that holy bastard known as God would send someone to stop us."

"Do you mean that Micah and his company are those sent by God to stop you?" Pip asked.

"Not all of them. It's probably just Micah and Elijah, or even just one of them. Every one else is probably just the victims of our work that Micah pitied." Damien explained, "Although, there is some irony about those two." Irony? What could possibly be ironic about those two? What about the stern, silent and frightening Elijah could be ironic? What about the laid-back, kind-hearted eccentric Micah could be ironic?

"What is it?" Pip asked.

"They're both named for prophets that predicted the end of the world." Damien said, "I find it to be a bit ironic that those sent by God to prevent the Apocalypse are named for those who predicted the coming of Apocalypse." He snickered. It was strange to hear any form of laughter come from Damien, who always seemed to be serious.

There was one thing that Pip still did not quite understand. Just how were Elijah and Micah supposed to stop Damien and his brothers and sisters from unleashing the Apocalypse? Did they take away their abilities? Perform exorcisms? How? "Damien?" Pip asked. Damien turned to the other. "Just how are Micah and Elijah supposed to stop you?" The small grin Damien had had fallen, and he regained that serious look he had once more.

"They kill us."

What?

"It's very hard to bring about the damnation of humanity and unleash the Apocalypse if you're dead. Trust me." Damien further explained, "We get cast back into hell and have to wait until humanity is vulnerable to temptation once again. Sometimes it's not that long a wait and sometimes we go for centuries in Hell. That's why they kidnapped you Pip. So that they could lure me in and kill me." It all made sense now. Pip was bait for the attempted murder of Damien. He felt awful at the realization. They were planning to kill Damien. And Pip was unknowingly involved in it all. Oh, God. If they had been successful, Damien would have been…oh, God.

Pip never felt so bad for trying to befriend someone before. To think that this all could have been avoided if he kept his distance from Jacob. His heart felt heavy with guilt. But what about Damien? What if he had never made friends with Damien? His friendship with Damien was the cause of the fiasco he endured for three weeks. And what about Damien and his feelings and opinions on this whole ordeal? Was he in any way mad at Pip? Did…did Damien in any way regret being friends with him now?

"Damien?" he asked, "Can I ask you something? Do you regret being friends with me because of this predicament? We wouldn't be in this situation if we were never friends, so I can't help but feel that I've brought unnecessary problems for you recently." An uncomforting silence came afterwards. He looked away from Damien. Pip wanted to be able to look at Damien in the eye and see for himself. If he could look into his eyes, would Pip find anger? Resentment? Shock? Dare he be fortunate enough, pity? He heard what he assumed to be the uncomfortable shuffling of Damien's feet, but it grew louder. And was coming from behind him.

He looked over his shoulder to see, coming out of the darkness, Rocco limping as he walked, arm draped over Ludwig's shoulder. They were both scuffled up badly, Rocco more so than Ludwig. As they grew closer to Damien and Pip, Pip saw the cause of Rocco's limping.

There was a bullet hole in his pant leg, surrounded by stains of blood. Rocco had been shot in the leg. "You both look like shit." Damien said nonchalantly.

"That's what happens when you come across the prick determined to kill you. You should see what he looks like." Rocco replied, "Son of a bitch used shotgun with shells dipped in holy water or something. They hurt like a fucking _bitch_, man. Trust me, I've been shot before. This is a different kind of hurt."

"Is he dead?" Damien asked.

"Gee, you're _so_ concerned. No, he's not. Jackass made a retreat. He did some real damage to my baby too. Busted up her tire and made all those dents. And the leather seats! When I get my hands on him I'm gonna snap his neck and shoot him in the face with his own shotgun. Or better yet, I'll give that jerkwad AIDS and leukemia at the same time! And multiple tumors to boot!" Rocco said with a grimaced look and angry tone. "Anyone know how far it is from here to Lilia's?"

"The exit we would have come up on would be the one to take. If we made it back to the car we could probably limp down on the side of the interstate to the next exit. It's not that far a drive to Lilia's afterwards." Ludwig said, his voice flat and deep as he spoke. He turned to Rocco, "Think you can avoid bleeding to death until then?" Rocco shot him a look swarming with bitterness and frustration, which was followed by an obscene hand gesture.

"Yeah, let's get going already," said Rocco, "The sooner we get to Lilia's, the sooner I get this fucking shotgun shell out of my leg. And after that I can find a body shop to fix up my baby." This man was obsessed with his car. If asked, Pip would admit that it was a nice car, but was it really worth all the fuss Rocco put in over it?

Probably not. The four turned around, making their way through the darkness of night and thick, dead trees and winter snow that plagued the area. For a while, all we quiet. The only audible sounds were that of crickets chirping, wind occasionally howling and the crunching of the snow beneath their feet. Occasionally Rocco would groan in pain, but aside from that, the four of them were silent as the grave.

"Hey, why did you two run off earlier?" Ludwig asked out of the blue, "We can't afford to be getting separated in a time like this. I don't really care much about the kid, but you, Damien, are another story."

"Yeah," chimed in Rocco, "We could have used your help! You could have incinerated the guy or something back there!" He had a point. Damien could have been, in fact, very useful in a fight against Elijah. Pip had seen him levitate multiple objects, set things on fire, and even summon demonic beings from what was probably Hell! If anything, Elijah would have been no match for him! So…why did he run? Damien didn't answer; neither did he look at any of them. He just walked briskly, hands in his pockets and a disgruntled look on his face.

He didn't want to answer, and by the way he was acting, Damien didn't intend to any time soon.

Rocco scoffed. "Fine, be that way." The rest of the way back was made in silence. In front was Damien, who kept a quick, steady pace to avoid looking at anyone. Second was Pip, trying to keep up with his friend. Finally was Ludwig with Rocco leaning on him, limping along as his injured leg continued to bring him discomfort. Soon they saw the faint orange glow of the interstate lamps. Pip had never been happier to see the color orange in his life before. He probably never would ever again.

When Rocco said earlier of how Elijah had damaged the car, Pip was a bit taken aback. It was as bad as he had said and then some! The whole left side of the car was dented from where bullets had hit the surface. The dark colored paint was chipped. The back right wheel was torn up pretty badly. The rear view mirror on the driver's side was cracked. The seats themselves were also full of their share of bullet holes, mainly in the driver and front passenger seats. A taillight was broken.

This poor car was a _mess_.

Rocco hobbled over to the car, placed his hands on it and tried to maintain his balanced. He failed, and fell face forward into the car seat. He groaned loudly.

"A-are you all right?" Pip asked as he tried to help the man back up, only to be shooed away weakly by a flailing hand.

"Fuck off. Let me mope." He heard from Rocco. His voice was muffled, but his words were clear as day. Pip's hands retreated back to his sides. Poor fellow. Today just didn't seem to be his day. With a battered up car that he loved very much and an injured leg that left him in a lot of pain, the man really had a reason to mope.

"Mope in the car, moron." Ludwig said as he jerked Rocco up by shirt, pulled him away and opened the car door.

"Bastard." muttered Rocco, who limped into the car seat and shut the door.

"Bitch." replied Ludwig, who walked around the front of the car to the driver's seat, got in and shut the door. Damien and Pip followed in suit and climbed into the back seat; Damien sat on the left and Pip on the right. Pip then noticed that the keys were still in the ignition. Ludwig turned the keys one, two, three times. On the fourth time the engine finally revved up and turned on. What a relief.

The car limped down the side of the road, slowly making its way along. The four of them were quiet. The world around them, too, was quiet. Pip looked around. On the other side of the road was nothing but woods. He looked up. The sky was partially cloudy; dark figures covered blotches of stars. The moon was nowhere to be seen, quite possibly hiding behind the clouds as well. Everything was still and silent, and with that came a sense of unnaturalness. The world didn't feel right being so quiet. It was strange. A sudden brisk wind picked up and blew in Pip's face. How chilly! He didn't know it, but he visibly shuddered.

He felt something grab hold of his hand. He looked down to see Damien's on his own, holding it tightly. He didn't look at Pip. In fact, he was looking the other way with a blank stare. And for that, Pip was a bit grateful. He felt his cheeks and ears flare up with embarrassing warmth when he saw Damien's hand on his own. His heart raced, although he did not understand why. He felt a small smile tugging on his lips.

_Thank you_, he thought.

"Okay, I can't take this silence anymore," Rocco said as he began tampering with the radio dials on his car, "I need some music. Let's see what Colorado has to offer."

First was a pop song, sung by a woman about being in love. "No. No chick songs."

Next came a radio talk show, the radio show hosts discussing some news topic with a male caller. "Boring."

Third came a classic rock song, a medley of young men shouting followed by an electric guitar and drum duet. "Yes! Beastie Boys!" He threw his fists in the air, pretending to hit imaginary drums before shouting at the top of his lungs, "No! Sleep! Till…_Brooklyn_! Yeah!" The music was strange. The beat was rough, the music itself loud and brash, and the lyrics were hard for Pip to understand with the singers shouting one moment and speaking in strange rhymes the next.

He didn't really care for such music. Pip was old-fashioned, and as such, liked old-fashioned music. He could barely understand the song blasting from the car's radio speakers, but if the station were changed to something playing Tchaikovsky or Bach, he could inform anyone and everyone around him the name of the piece and when it was composed. For old-fashioned music was the fruit of culture and sophistication, and Pip adored and yearned for both. He wouldn't complain about the music though. As strange, barbaric and vulgar as it sounded, it brought Rocco some joy. The man had a gunshot wound in his leg and his beloved car had been banged up in awful ways. He could allow some personal leniency with the unsophisticated crowd for this one time.

Although, in all honestly, it would have been much easier to deal with if the car went any faster. Preferably, at normal speed. But patience is a virtue, and so must be tested from time to time. Pip mentally told himself that this would be one of those times where his patience would be tested.

With rebellious rock music blasting, a car that went far too slow, and Damien's hand still gripped tightly on his, Pip endured the tests of patience.

* * *

**And...that's a wrap. I rather liked this chapter. We got some character development, a thickening plot, the first steps to romantic implications, Waylon "Shooter" Jennings, Beastie Boys, a ukulele and Elijah finally opened his damned mouth and spoke. And sarcastic comic relief from Rocco! Yeah, this was a good chapter if you ask me.**

**By the way, this is the formula one would use to imagine Elijah's voice:**

**Tommy Lee Jones scruffy bad ass voice+Christopher Plummer's accent+Keith Richards' eloquence+Leonard Nimoy's intelligence= Elijah's voice. Can you imagine what that would sound like? I can, and it sounds pretty awesome. **

**The two songs I referenced in this chapter are "I'm A Long Way From Home" by Waylon "Shooter" Jennings and "No Sleep Till Brooklyn" by Beastie Boys. Both songs are wicked awesome, and I will be severely disappointed in you all if you don't look them up on YouTube. Do not disappoint me. Well, that's about it. I see you guys again next chapter!  
**


	7. The House of the Whore

**Huzzah! We've got a new chapter! I'm sorry these are taking so long! But for now let's rejoice that we have a new chapter and enjoy it. And then I can go back to slaving away at college and starting work all while finding the time to finish this story.**

**_I, EranthyaeNoire, have in no way, shape, or form ownership of South Park. The likes of which, including setting, characters, and any specific events mentioned in this fanfiction belong to the likes of Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I, personally, own only this fanfiction and any OCs, or Original Characters, that may take part in this fanfiction. Once again, I repeat that I do not own South Park._**

**Series: South Park**

**Rating: M for Mature. Such reasons include language, dark and/or suggestive themes, violence/gore, character death, and adult-like scenarios/concepts. Reader's discretion is advised. **

**Pairing: DamienxPip

* * *

**

What would have probably been at best ten to twenty minutes ended up being almost an hour. But the beat up vehicle had finally reached its destination: the residence of one "Lilia".

This Lilia woman was apparently very well off. They were in a very nice, high-end, gated community, aptly named "Babylon Hills", with giant, well designed homes everywhere Pip looked. They were large and lit up, with big windows; long driveways filled with expensive cars and very nice yards all neatly trimmed and decorated with bushes and flowers. Lilia's house was up on a hill, at the end of the road. It was large and spacey on the outside, made of white brick and a dark brown roof. There were elaborate windows all in the front, giving glimpses into the extravagant home that awaited inside. The driveway was composed of decorated tiles set in a circular turn, giving easy in and out access for whomever it may be visiting. Trees, bushes and frostbitten flowers of red, gold and purple decorated the edges of house and driveway, with a small statue surrounded in the same flowers at the center of the circular driveway. The door was a dark reddish brown, most likely something like mahogany or cherry wood, with a big window in the center and a large brass knob on the left. A lamp hung from the ceiling above the door, lighting up the doorway. It reminded Pip of a house he saw in a movie once, although which particular movie it was escaped him. It made him wonder if it was as big on the inside as it was on the outside. Possibly.

It was a house suited for royalty; Damien's sister Lilia must be quite the lucky woman to live in such an estate.

The four of them piled out of the car and made their way up to the doorway. First was Ludwig with Rocco in tow, with Damien and Pip not far behind them. Pip kept close to Damien like a shadow. Rocco hobbled up to the door and banged on it with his fist. "Lilia! Stop fucking whoever it is you got in bed right now and open up the door! I have a fucking gunshot in my leg, damn it!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, not caring for who could hear him or what they could possibly think of what was going on based upon his words. He leaned face forward against the door, his face resting on the glass. "What's taking the bitch? I have a bullet in my fucking leg and she's not at the door!" He groaned angrily as he then hit his head against the door. "I think it's getting infected…I feel like the shit of a shit it's that bad."

"How's that for irony." Ludwig muttered, "Someone whose sole purpose in life is to spread disease to others is coming down with an infection of his own." Rocco took his free arm and placed it as close to Ludwig's face as he gave an obscene hand gesture. Ludwig paid it no mind, however. "Why don't you two run around back and see if Lilia's back there? If not, you could always break in through the back door." He always seemed so serious whenever he spoke, so it made it rather difficult to figure out whether or not he was joking about the last statement. Knowing the constant seriousness he always had since Pip met him, he probably meant it.

Damien scowled at the elder, but turned his heel and walked away. And Pip, still wanting to stay close to his friend, followed after him.

The backyard was just as extravagant as the front of the house, if not possibly more. Tall thin trees lined along a marble-like rock that covered most of the yard. It surrounded a large pool, which was lit up with lights underneath the waters. A smaller pool, quite possibly a Jacuzzi hot tub or a smaller, shallower pool accompanied it. The back of the house was met with a deck, made of the same kind of wood as the door up front. Said deck was decorated with a table and chairs, lit tiki torches, reclining pool chairs and wicker chairs with cushioned seats, and what looked like a small pit for small bonfires. By the pool was a small hut of sorts, composed of poles and thick, white sheets for walls.

"You go this way Pip," Damien said, pointing in one direction, "and I'll go the other way. The sooner we find the bitch, the better." Pip nodded and complied, even though he really didn't want to. He walked away from Damien, toward the edge of the pool. Damien, in turn, walked up the large stairway to the deck overhead. Pip walked along the edge of the pool; unless she could turn invisible or something, she wasn't in the pool. Same with the smaller pool next to it.

Which left only one legitimate place for her to be aside from somewhere inside the huge house or up on the deck; the small hut made of thick, white sheets. As Pip walked closer and closer to the small hut, he began to hear things. Hushed things. Quieted things. Things he probably shouldn't be hearing yet at this age.

"Mmm…ah! Ah! Ah!" Pip froze in his tracks. It was a woman's voice. More specifically, it was a woman's _moans_. It was soft, exasperated and hinting with the smallest amounts of pleasure. There were limited things that could be the cause of such a sound. "Nngh, harder..!"

She…she's getting a back massage or something, right? Yes, that had to be it. It couldn't possibly be that she was, um, well-

"Aah! Yes! Right there!" This was becoming terribly uncomfortable for Pip to listen to. His face, ears and neck were all aflame with awkwardness and embarrassment. His chest was stirring. His breathing was hitched. His mind finally made contact with his feet, and they began moving the poor lad further away from the white hut and toward the deck. He didn't make it that far, though. He bumped into Damien.

Damien stared at him for all of three seconds before the sound of a woman's pleasured scream rung in the air. He sighed and looked past Pip to that white hut of the sounds of carnal pleasure. He walked past Pip toward said hut.

Oh, goodness.

What was Damien thinking?

He wasn't actually going to go _in_ _there_, was he? Couldn't he have at least waited until they've finished the deed and made themselves decent first? Just the thought of walking in on them now was most indecent and gentlemanly! Practically vulgar! Boorish! Uncouth!

His mind then registered his feet moving. He looked down; his arm was being pulled along by the sleeve, making him walk along with the Anti-Christ who held a firm grip. His heart rate quickened. He didn't want to walk in on them! Pip shook and pulled his wrist about, trying to free his sleeve from Damien and avoid walking in on something he wasn't supposed to see. The hut's fabric walls were closed for a reason; whoever inside didn't want to be seen. Couldn't Damien respect that?

Apparently not.

With one strong jerk he pulled his arm away from Damien's grip. He looked back at him, eyes hinting what almost looked like confusion. Pip shook his head violently, determined to silently get his point across that he wasn't going in there. Damien look frustrated with the other, but turned around and walked away to the hut without a word. He drew open the white fabric and walked in, closing it behind him.

A brief moment of silence.

"Go on home, love. Go back to your wife and son. But don't be a stranger; come back again sometime." he heard a woman's voice. It sounded soft, alluring. Truly beautiful to listen to, even from behind the thick fabric that acted as a barrier between Pip and the rest of them.

Out of the tent came a man. He was tall and muscular with a shaved head, clad only in what could have been best described as bed linens held in place by his hands. His physical appearance gave Pip the impression that he was something like a soldier or an officer. His eyes were darkened and hazy, as if in a dream-like state. He walked as if he were halfway asleep, not even noticing Pip's presence when the man walked right by him. Pip watched him walk away. It was rather cold outside and the man wasn't complaining in the slightest. He wasn't even speaking at all.

Strange.

"My, it sure is cold out tonight." said that same woman's voice from earlier. Pip turned around, and to his sudden discomfiture he quickly turned around. Standing next to Damien- who did not seem very pleased to be standing there in the first place- was a naked woman. Oh my. Oh my! Had this woman no shame? He closed his eyes and placed his hands over his face to give her some privacy. "Oh, who's this shy little cutie? A friend of yours, Damien?"

"None of your damn business, bitch." Damien replied, "Now go get dressed and open the front door. Rocco's got a gunshot and he's been whining for the last hour."

"So rude, so rude," she cooed, "You poor little thing, dealing with that grouchy attitude." Pip felt something wrap around his neck and press against his shoulders. He looked down; it was her arms. If those were Lilia's arms, and Lilia was currently naked, that would mean-

Oh, goodness. His face felt hot. His ears burned up. If his neck could have spontaneously combusted at any given moment, now would have been the time. Her…assets, were pressed up against him! He let out a small shriek, to which Damien groaned and Lilia giggled. "He's so shy! Damien, let me keep this one. He'd be fun to have around in my big ol' house when the boys are to busy to come and play."

"No. Now get off him, bitch." Damien said warningly, "You may be into a lot of weird and kinky things, but I don't see how pedophilia would make its way onto your long list."

"I'm not necessarily into _children_, dear baby brother Damien," Lilia said as she began to play with stands of Pip's hair, "but I got the feeling that when he gets older, he'll be one _hell_ of a lover. In a sweet, sensitive, submissive kind of way. He'd make a wonderful little toy for me, don't you think? And being Whore of Babylon has its perks when you can modify a lover any way you want. Looks, size, even their _age_." Pip was becoming more and more uncomfortable with every word that came out of Lilia's mouth. He looked toward Damien, silently pleading for help.

_Please get this woman off me._

_Please don't let her take advantage of me._

_Please don't leave me alone with her._

A sudden slew of shouts and screams came from beyond the house. Rocco. "Goddamn it, Lilia! Get your man-fucking tight ass to the front door now! Your latest boy toy just left, we know you're here! Hurry it up!" She sighed and released her loose hold on Pip. Thank goodness.

"I suppose I'll go let them in. You boys can go inside and wait, the back doors are unlocked. Just make sure you two behave yourselves while I'm gone." said Lilia, "And keep it G-rated. I wouldn't want to miss anything!" Pip made sure to keep his eyes closed until he heard the faint shut of the back door. Once that fateful sound resonated in his ears, he opened his eyes again.

G-rated?

"D-Damien, your sister, s-she-"

"Is a gold-digging perverted whore. I know." Damien interrupted, "Now let's go inside." Damien walked away toward the house, Pip following not that far behind him. Pip was going to say that she frightened him with her lewdness and lack of shame, but said nothing. He followed him inside and shut the door behind him.

The house was just as extravagant on the inside as it seemed to be on the outside. The floors were white marble tiles, decorated with long, finely decorated rugs. The walls were a deep red in color covered with pictures of the same woman, presumably Lilia herself. To the right there were plants, lamps, mirrors, elaborate tables and chairs, lovely couches and a lit fireplace. Above the fireplace hung the largest picture of them all; a painting of Lilia. Her hair was long and dark colored, either black or dark brown. Her eyes were a piercing shade of light blue hidden halfway underneath her eyelashes. She smiled a seductive smile, head resting on her folded hands as she leaned in toward the painting. Her skin was tanned; perhaps she was of Mediterranean, Hispanic or Arabic decent? She was an icon of superficial beauty, befitting to her role. To the left was a long polished wooden table with matching chairs. A lit chandelier hung overhead, lighting the room. Large windows allowed a view of the outside by the table, each window accompanied by golden colored drapes. Beyond the tables and chairs was a winding staircase leading to the second floor.

Lilia really did live an extravagant life. Pip couldn't help but wonder just what kind of occupation she could have that would sustain such a frivolous lifestyle. But, then again, that was something he probably didn't want to find out.

"Why don't you sit down, baby? I got the couches from this company called Sedgewicke when I was visiting England once. You'll love them; it's like sitting on a mountain of pillows." said Lilia as she entered the room, clad only in a short, silky red and purple bathrobe. Behind her came Ludwig and Rocco limping along with him. "Ludwig, you can put him on the couch. I'll go get the kit and the others."

"They're already here?" Damien asked.

"Yes, you three were the last ones." she replied, "What took you so long anyway?"

"Is it not obvious?" Rocco said, voice escalating with each new spoken word, "I was shot in the leg and my poor baby was banged up and pumped full of lead, all because we had to make a fucking pit stop to pick up Damien's little boy toy or whatever the fuck he is! And you know what takes the cake about this whole scenario? Elijah. That fucker Elijah did all of this!"

Lilia grimaced at the name. "Elijah came after you guys?"

"Yeah."

"Are you serious? Does he know where you were going?" she said, retaining some attitude in the way she spoke, "You do realize that if he knows where I live, that son of a bitch came come here right now and kill every last one of us? And I'd just _love_ to hear how we'd fulfill our duties to our Father if all of us are-"

"Lilia, will you just _shut up_!" Ludwig said in a demanding tone, finally speaking with some expression other than the constant mundane droning he spoke in before, "He retreated. Rocco and I proved to be too much for him. So, please, _shut up_." Lilia seemed somewhat relieved of this news, although retained some annoyance about herself. She leaned on one foot and crossed her arms. "Now go get the goddamn kit so I can fix up stupid here." She huffed angrily and walked away. Once she was gone, Rocco began laughing. It started out small, like chuckles, but grew louder and more consistent. He clapped his hands.

"So you finally decided to grow some balls, huh, Luddie?" he said happily, "That was amazing, man. Really, I had no idea you had it in you. Bravo, man. Bravo." Ludwig hummed nonchalantly in response, clearly not as amused about the situation as the other was. Rocco leaned the back of his head against the couch and stared at the ceiling, amused smile still beaming on his scuffed up face.

"Damien, be a dear and go put your little friend away for a brief moment, please?" Lilia asked as she walked back into the room, a small white box in her hands. "The others are coming and we can't have them distracted. We all know how hard it is to have them focus when they come across a human. Especially a child. You got a better chance of getting Ludwig to smile than getting them to focus. Why don't you take him upstairs with the other two guests?"

"Other guests?" Pip repeated. He wasn't the only one? This brought some comfort to Pip, knowing that there were others like him here. Granted, the idea that two other poorly fortuned individuals were as involved in this otherworldly fiasco as he was wasn't something to be comforted by, but just knowing there were others that were in the same position as him and understood brought some relief.

"Yes, two of them. One of them is mine," the comfort dwindled a little, "and the other is an associate of our dear Avarice. You'll love them, dear. Go on, Damien. Go introduce your little friend to the others." she said, "After all, it's not like you two are inseparable or anything." She said that last part almost mockingly. Pip could feel the back of his neck burn up in embarrassment. He felt growingly frustrated with the woman's insinuating remarks. His focus on said frustrations, however, were cut short by Damien. He pulled the other along toward the winding stairway.

As they climbed up the stairs, Pip could hear the faintest discussions between the three downstairs, talking about Damien and…

He couldn't hear anymore.

The upstairs of the house was dark and hardly lit. If not for the small lamps on the walls, the second floor might as well been abandoned. The walls were dark red in color, accompanied by some kind of off-white carpet. The stairway was met with a long hallway, with dark wooden doors on both sides and one at the end of the hallway. Damien took no time walking down the hallway, and Pip soon followed after him.

"Hey, Pip." Damien called out of the blue. It caught Pip a little off guard, but he gave a small "yes" in acknowledgment. "I'll try to make this quick as possible. You want to get home, right?" Pip was caught off guard again, this time by the sudden, well, _kindness_, coming from Damien. He nodded again. "Okay. That's all I wanted to know." He stopped at a door. Second the end of the hallway, on the right. He opened the door, and made way for Pip to enter. Once Pip was inside, the door shut behind him, leaving Pip alone in a room with two strangers.

Two _adult_ strangers.

The closest to him was a woman sitting on a leather couch, reading some book. Her brown hair was pulled up into a professional bun, tied tightly and letting no loose ends fall down. She wore a dark gray three piece business suit, accompanied by her dark leggings and dress shoes. She looked as if she had just come from some sort of important business meeting. She glanced up at Pip briefly, cold eyes studying him for a moment before returning to the large tome in her hands. The second guest, sitting on the edge of a billiards table, shuffling a deck of cards in his hands, was a man. He was African American, by the looks of it. He had facial hair that could be best described as a well trimmed goatee. His hair, wrapped together in dreadlocks, was tucked away underneath a bowler hat. Two playing cards stuck out from the hat's ribbon trim. With a white dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, a tailored black vest, pair of black slacks and nice pair of dress shoes, he had the air of a gambling man about him. He smiled when he looked at Pip, as if seeing an opportunity.

It made Pip uncomfortable.

The man rose from the billiards table and strode over to Pip, still shuffling the cards in his hands as he walked.

"'Ello, Little Boss," he said, his voice having a distinct accent to it. Jamaican? Maybe Haitian? "Come on in, we don't bite none." He took Pip by the shoulder, guiding him into the room. He took long strides as he walked; thereby making it a little bit difficult for Pip to keep up with the man.

"Let go of the boy, you charlatan." said the woman, eyes never rising from the book. The man stopped and looked at the woman, an almost sad look feigning in his expression.

"Aww, Helen, don't be like dat, yeah? Ol' Mistah Saturday's just being hospitable." Mister Saturday? What a peculiar name. "C'mon, Little Boss, let's you and me have a little sit down, yeah? We gotta talk." Talk? Talk about what?

"About what?" Pip asked as he sat down on a chair, the cushions almost engulfing him the more he sunk down into the chair. Mister Saturday chuckled as he sat down, hands still shuffling the cards in his hands. The uncomfortable feeling Pip had before intensified. He had a feeling that whatever it was this Mister Saturday person wanted to talk to him about, it wasn't going to be all that enjoyable. But, then again, the last three weeks hadn't exactly been a cup of tea either. He might as well indulge the man on what he wanted to talk to him about right? For the sake of being polite, at least.

"Why, de future, o' course." said Mister Saturday, "Particularly, _your_ future." He placed down the cards he had been shuffling this whole time on the table between them. Pip glanced down at them; Tarot Cards. These were Tarot Cards; devices of pagan, heathen witchcraft used to predict the future. This man wanted to read Pip's future with these devil crafted cards. Pip felt a surge of resistance. He knew it was wrong to wander from the path of the righteous, wrong to defy the Word of God. If Pip were to go through with this, he would _defy_ _God_. Could he go through with that?

"Feelings of uneasiness, Little Boss?" Pip nodded. Mister Saturday chuckled again. "Don't you worry none. I can't claim your soul, for me o' anyone else. We just gonna look into de future with de cards. No harm done."

No harm done.

Those words echoed in his mind and soothed his anxieties. Yes, it would be okay. His mind hazed as his worries washed away. He nodded. Mister Saturday chuckled. "Good to hear, Little Boss. Now why don't you cut de deck into four sets? Let de cards get a feel of whose future dey gonna read." Mister Saturday gathered up the deck and handed it to Pip. Pip took the deck from his hand and cut the deck. Into four different sets, like Mister Saturday said. Mister Saturday took ten of the Tarot Cards from the decks and assembled them. There were seven on top, six surrounding one in the center. Below that circle of seven cards was three cards lined up in a row.

Mister Saturday flipped over the center card of the circle of seven. It showed a picture of three sticks. "De Three o' Wands. You've become involved in an ordeal of great importance, and the trust you have for someone close to you is being tested by this ordeal." There was some truth in the words. In a way, he was involved in this "Apocalypse" thing Damien was involved in. And not a few hours ago he snapped at Damien for keeping him in the dark for so long.

Mister Saturday flipped over the next card, the card below the center card. An image of several swords decorated the cards, eight of them in all. "De Eight o' Swords. You made a careless mistake that led to a great consequence. It left you feeling confused, and from that confusion, powerless. You felt like you could not fix the problem you had brought on yourself." Again, truth. Pip was careless in his approach with Micah and the others, and it ended with him trapped in a hotel, cut off from the rest of the world for three weeks.

The third card, to the left of the bottom card, was upside down. The image was that of four encircled stars, cleverly designed to resemble a four-leaf clover. "De Four o' Pentacles in a reverse position. You want others to be happy, and are willing to forsake your own happiness for it." This kind of reflected his behavior back at South Park Elementary, didn't it? He always let the other children walk all over him, spit on him, shun him and put him through all kinds of childish hell. After all, if he did, they would eventually warm up to him and want to be friends, right?

The fourth card was in the bottom right part of the circle of seven. Like its counterpart on the left, it too was upside down. It showed an image of a traveling man with a happy look on his face. "De reversed Fool. There is an obsession in your future. It is unclear who or what dis obsession is over, but if not careful, it will consume and destroy you from de inside out. Let go of your childish ideals; they will only worsen it. There are also strange impulses and desires from unexpected places in your future." Pip couldn't relate these words to his past or present. They were a premonition of the future. Pip didn't quite understand the meaning of what Mister Saturday was talking about, but made sure to commit it partially to memory. Just in case.

The fifth card, in the upper left corner of the seven card circle, was the image of a man. He sat on a throne and wore and ornate crown. A king, perhaps? Like the last two cards before it, it was upside down. "De reversed Emperor. Loss of confidence has caused you to lose your way. You've found yourself in de hands of those with power and ambition to change de world. Be mindful of your temper and tongue. Loss of control will lead to conflicts later on down de road." The image of Damien popped into Pip's mind. He was involved in some plan to bring forth Armageddon. And earlier, Pip had lost his temper for a moment and snapped at Damien. Should he have done that…?

Mister Saturday flipped over the sixth card at the very top of the circle. There was an image of a single stick. "De reversed Ace o' Wands. A new crisis appears, unknown to most. It leads to danger for all involved. Dangerous feelings and thoughts will be set into motion. Be advised and keep up your guard." A sense of uneasiness began to sink in. Pip didn't like where this fortune telling was going. His hands gripped onto the edge of his shorts.

The card at the top right, the very last of the circle of seven, was turned. Two intersecting swords, the hilts of the swords facing towards Mister Saturday. "De reversed Two of Swords. Conflicts in contradicting personalities will arise. Schemes and abuse of trust are cause to cutting off emotions. Self deceptions and delusions will lead one to justify cruel and unforgivable acts." More terrifying predictions. Were these things, as vague as they sounded, really in his future?

Mister Saturday then flipped the card on the left in the row below the circle. The image of an armored warrior and a lion was on the card. "De reversed Fortitude." A lot of Pip's cards were reversed, weren't they? "Weakness in the face of obstacles leads to an inability to defend oneself. Tremendous power will be released at de wrong moment brings confusion, illness, and hardship. A possible loss of reputation will be the result of the abuse of these distresses."

The middle card was turned. "De reversed Nine 'o Cups. Vanity, conceit and smugness take place in relationships. You will achieve what you always thought you wanted. And a state of shallow joy will sink in." That almost sounded optimistic. Maybe things weren't as bad as they sounded to be earlier.

The last card was turned. A cloaked figure, holding a skull in one bony hand and a harvesting sickle in the other, standing in front of a setting sun. "Interesting. Finally, Little Boss, we have Death." His paused. Pip didn't like the pause. It brought back feelings of uneasiness and newfound fear. "Unexpected change is in de future, resulting in loss or failure. From it can come new and greater things. Significant change in character or position if willing to let change happen. It brings opportunity for transformation. But, then again it could simply mean de obvious; death. For you or for someone you know or care about." All good feelings he had before had died then and there. _Death_? Someone Pip knew, or even Pip himself, is at risk of _dying_? How horrible! But, then again, it could also mean a transformation into a better person. Pip hoped and hoped with all his heart that this interpretation of the card could be what turned out to happen. The thought of someone Pip cared for dying, or even worse, _himself_ dying, scared him beyond all thought or recognition.

"Stop scaring the boy, con man." said the woman, Helen, "Have you nothing better to do than frighten a poor boy with your Voodoo superstition?"

"No, I don't." Mister Saturday replied curtly, "And don't mock my Voodoo, Helen Dinero. I'd take your soul for myself if you hadn't already given it to that Judeo-Christian sin Avarice for wealth and riches. No better than Lilia, you are."

"No better than me, what?" asked a third voice. Pip turned around to see Lilia and Damien standing in the doorway. Lilia leaned against the frame, arms crossed as she looked at Mister Saturday with apprehensive eyes. She strode over to Mister Saturday, leaned down and wrapped her arms loosely around his neck. Mister Saturday chuckled. "Now, dearest, you know I don't like being compared to anyone or anything. I also know you like having that body of yours. It'd be a shame if I had to snap your neck, wouldn't it?"

"Tragic." replied Mister Saturday, "But I am a god myself back home. Thousands of my people would line up to give their bodies to me for my use if you did anything to me."

"True. But I'd be willing to forget about it if you apologize to me for insulting me." She placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. "And to Pip for scaring him." Another kiss. "And maybe even Helen, for threatening her." And another one. "What do you say? Will you be a good boy for me?" Mister Saturday smiled slyly, and looked up to Pip.

"I'm sorry, Little Boss." It was hardly an apology. There was no sincerity in his words; they sounded almost mocking. Pip wasn't going to say anything about it though. The man frightened enough tonight; he didn't want to upset him and cause a ruckus. Mister Saturday turned to Helen, who wasn't even looking at him. "I'm sorry, Helen." Finally, he turned to face Lilia. "And I'm sorry, Lilia."

"You can apologize to me properly later tonight," said Lilia, "But right now I need to feed and tuck in the children. Come on, Pip. You and Damien are staying here tonight. I'll take you home in the morning."

"What about Ludwig and Rocco?" asked Pip as he got up and followed after Lilia, Damien walking beside him.

"They'll stay here too. We still have to get that damn God-bullet out of Rocco's leg before he has a seizure or something. And Ludwig's too fucking lazy to leave. They'll both be sleeping on the couches, I can tell you that much." she said, "Are you hungry? You look like you haven't had a decent meal in forever." She was right. She didn't know it, but Lilia was right. For three weeks he had been living on a simple diet of sandwiches, sodas and the occasional fruit. Pip was a scrawny think to begin with, but if even possible, he was thinner than before. Quite possibly as thin as he was when he was living with his sister and brother-in-law in England. His clothes hung a little loose, and his shorts sagged a little around his waist. A meal, especially one made at home rather than in the confines of an abandoned hotel, would be especially nice.

"Yes, thank you." he said. He followed Lilia and Damien down the stairs and through a small series of hallways into a large, ornate kitchen. There were finely polished wooden floors and cabinets with decorative class, marble top counters, shiny metal refrigerators, sinks and dishwashers, and a big black stove; the champagne colored walls and large windows giving view to the backyard, tall chairs along a dining counter and smaller, ornate chairs around a table, and a large cabinet filled with fine china plates and glass, possibly crystal, champagne glasses. The kitchen looked like something out of a home remodeling magazine. All it really lacked was the image of the stereotypical American family enjoying a meal.

"So what would you like? I got some leftover penne rustica pasta, an apple and almond salad, leftover herb and garlic seasoned pork tenderloin, oh! And I got some chocolate cake with a raspberry Chambord glaze. So, what'll it be, baby?"

It all sounded delicious. He didn't really know what he wanted. "I-I don't know," he replied as he sat in one of the tall chairs by the dining counter, "Anything I guess." Lilia shrugged and turned back to the fridge.

"Damien? Would you like something too?" she asked. Damien grunted in response as he took the seat next to Pip. Apparently, that was a yes. Pip yawned, laying his head in the cradle of his own arms as he lied down against the counter. He was tired. He was hungry, but more importantly, he was tired. "Pip? Baby, you awake?" Barely. "Damien, your boy toy's not going to be able to stay up. Help him up and I'll show you two to a room to sleep in."

"We're sharing?" Damien asked. That was the first thing Damien had said since he and Lilia had taken him from the room with Helen and Mister Saturday.

"Of course. With everyone else wanting to stay here rather than find a hotel, I'm having to split up my poor house among thirteen people, including myself! So it's only natural I would have some people share a room. Besides, you wouldn't want someone like our Lust or our Wrath to get a hold of him in the poor baby's sleep, now would you?" Damien didn't respond. Pip felt a hand shake his shoulder, and he raised his head from his arms. He was more tired that he first thought he was.

"Since you're too tired to eat, let's get you into some clean clothes, baby. You look like you've been wearing that same thing for _ages_. Now, come on." she said coyly. Pip climbed down from the stairs and followed after her, Damien close by.

Lilia didn't know it, but she was right. For the last three weeks the clothes on his back were all he had to wear. "I'm sure I have some regular sleeping clothes for you to borrow. Unless, of course, you're fine with wearing a halter babydoll, a slip or one of my lacy teddies. Then I'll have plenty of sleepwear for you to choose from."

"N-no thank you. Something normal would be nice." Pip said quietly. He had no idea what a babydoll, slip or teddy was, but he had a feeling he didn't want to find out. He trudged behind, his feet dragging along as he walked. He saw up ahead a figure. It seemed familiar. As it got closer, the sense of familiarity grew. He felt as if he had seen the figure- male, as it turned out- somewhere before. Television perhaps? When he passed by the three of them, Pip looked over his shoulder quickly.

No. No, it couldn't have been. That man had a great resemblance to him, but it couldn't have been him. Could it? No, no. It couldn't have been him. It had to have been a look a like.

There was no way Pip saw Tom Cruise idly walk by him like it was no one's business. Pip was definitely more tired than he thought he was if he was seeing celebrities instead of people's actual faces. He shook his head and carried on. He followed Lilia down the hall, turning left to another hallway and to a door third down and on the right.

"Okay, you boys will share this room tonight. I'd give you separate rooms if I didn't have this whole fucking 'family reunion' thing filling up almost every spare bedroom I got in this place. You two get all comfy cozy and I'll be back with something for you to sleep in. And lay your clothes out so they'll get washed." she said before walking off. Pip was a bit surprised. Compared to earlier, Lilia almost seemed _responsible_ and _respectful_. _Motherly_, even. It was nice to see that even the Whore of Babylon could achieve some maturity. He turned to Damien, who stared at Lilia with suspicion as she walked off.

What on Earth was Damien suspicious about? Lilia had given then a room to sleep in, offered them clean clothes to wear while their clothes were washed, and even offered to drive Pip home tomorrow. If anything, he should be anything _but_ suspicious. "Damien, is everything okay?" Pip asked. Damien shrugged his shoulders and opened the door.

The room was simple, yet had that same flair of elegance the rest of Lilia's house bore. The four-poster bed was decorated with small throw pillows, with bed stands and lamps on either side. There was a vanity table on the other end of the room with a large mirror, and two polished wood dresser drawers. In the corner of the room was a cushioned chair with a footrest. There was a writing desk near one of the two windows, and there was a door leading to somewhere else. Perhaps it was a closet?

The air smelled nice in the room, fragranced with some unknown, but pleasant, scent. It seemed inviting, and Pip felt more than in welcomed into the room. He was tired. He was worn out and slightly disheveled. He was in need of a quick bath and then a long, long rest. He was going home tomorrow. He wanted to be well rested and decent for when he finally came home to Mother and Father.

He walked in and sat down on the cushioned chair's footrest, and leaned back. It was comfortable, oh so comfortable. Pip could fall asleep right there. "Pip?" Damien asked, bringing Pip back from the luring depths of sleep. He sat up to see the other standing in front of him. Damien pointed over his shoulder to the closed door at the other end of the room. "Do you want the first bath?"

So it was a bathroom. "I suppose so. Thank you, Damien." he said, getting up from the chair and walking toward the door. He opened it, turned on the light, walked inside, and silently shut the door behind him. The bathroom was a cornucopia of white, from the sinks to the walls to the bathtub itself. Pip would have been awestruck if he wasn't so tired. He walked to the bathtub and turned on the water, letting it fill up the pearly white tub. One by one he shed layers of his clothing, from his hat to his socks. He climbed in; the water was warm and relaxing. He would just sit there if it would never go cold and if he wasn't in such desperate need of a bath as he was. So rather than just sitting in the bathtub, Pip bathed. And in what felt like no time at all, he was clean of any malodorous scents or dirt that was previously on his body.

It felt nice being clean. Who would have thought he would miss something like being clean so much?

He got a towel from the rack and wrapped it around himself. It was fluffy and large, absorbed the moisture and left him feeling as dry as he was clean. There was then a quick knock on the door. "Yes?" Pip asked, holding the towel wrapped around him close. In came Damien with something in his hands. It looked like a set of clothes.

"Lilia found you something." Damien said, handing him the clothes, "Surprisingly enough, she had something that _wasn't_ slutty. If you need me, I'll be asleep."

"Yes, thank you." Pip said before Damien shut the door behind him. He looked at the clothes. An overly large shirt and what looked like jogging shorts. It wasn't anything extravagant or in his size, but it would do. After all, it would be only for one night. Tomorrow he would be in his own bed and wearing his own bedclothes, so wearing this for one night would be okay with him. And once dressed, he exited the bathroom. The room was dark, the only source of light being that which came from the windows. He saw the figure of Damien lying down in the bed, apparently already asleep. Pip didn't want to wake him. He decided that, in order to avoid waking up Damien, he would sleep on the cushioned chair and footrest tonight. That way, they would both be able to sleep and Pip wouldn't be any kind of nuisance to the other as he slept. He walked through the darkness to the cushioned chair and lied down. His feet rested on the footrest and his head rested on the large, engulfing pillow placed on the chair. It was comfy. Pip liked it. He closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to come.

"Pip."

It would seem that Damien was, in fact, not asleep. Pip rolled over to face Damien. Damien turned on a bedside lamp, and Pip felt blinded by its brightness. He shielded his eyes with his arm, but made sure to peak out from underneath with one eye to remain contact with Damien. After all, it would be rude to carry on a conversation with someone if you're not even going to look them in the eye. "Yes, Damien?" he asked.

"Get in the bed." The words were spoken bluntly, demandingly even. He wasn't offering to share the bed, but rather demanding it. How forthcoming of him. The back of Pip's neck flared up the slightest bit.

"It's quite all right, Damien. I'm fine right here." Pip replied, trying to reassure his friend that he was content with where he was.

"I didn't ask. Get in the fucking bed." Damien said with that same stubborn, demanding tone of his. He was persistent about this, wasn't he? Pip couldn't help but feel the least bit bothered about it. He had never shared a bed before. Is this something friends do? If they did, then it would be okay, right?

"Very well, Damien." And with these last words spoken, Pip rose from the cushioned chair and climbed into the bed. He laid down his head, closed his eyes, and, for the first time in three weeks, Pip dreamed.

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**Yay! We've gotten through chapter seven! I'll try to get chapter eight up real soon for you guys!  
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**Can I confess something to you guys? I don't really like Lilia. There, I said it. I find her to be lascivious and a bit too prissy for my tastes. Not to mention she came off a bit of a Mary Sue at some points. It was a bit troublesome trying to write her sometimes, I seriously wanted to bang my head on my laptop. And don't be charmed with that apparent 'motherly' side to her at the end of the chapter. It's a trap. I can feel it. Mister Saturday's cool though. I like him. He's like a fun mix between Dr. Facilier from Princess and the Frog, Gambit from X-Men, and a little bit of Crowley from Supernatural. All of which are awesome. So he's probably my favorite in this chapter. FUN FACT: The basis of his character is based off a Haitian Voodoo God. If you can guess which one, you'll be my favorite person. And Helen...um, she'll have some importance later on. But not right now. Right now, she's just a useless, bossy bitch in a business suit.  
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**Well, my crazy ramblings about my OCs aside, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and hope to get the next part up soon. Until then, please be patient with me!  
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	8. Five O'Clock Madness

**EranthyaeNoire: Hello, everybody? How are we doing? I'm doing pretty good myself. Working, having fun with friends in college, writing up new chapters for your entertainment and my own amusement. The usual. But enough about me, let's get the boring stuff out of the way so we can get a new chapter up!  
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**_I, EranthyaeNoire, have in no way, shape, or form ownership of South Park. The likes of which, including setting, characters, and any specific events mentioned in this fanfiction belong to the likes of Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I, personally, own only this fanfiction and any OCs, or Original Characters, that may take part in this fanfiction. Once again, I repeat that I do not own South Park._**

**Series: South Park**

**Rating: M for Mature. Such reasons include language, dark and/or suggestive themes, violence/gore, character death, and adult-like scenarios/concepts. Reader's discretion is advised. **

**Pairing: DamienxPip

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Pip was in a familiar place. The color of the walls, the texture of the furniture, the scent of the air, the random small sounds; everything, he knew it. He had been living in this place for almost two years of his life, and in that time had become more than accustomed to the sights, sounds, feels and scents of his adopted family's house.

He looked around. He was sitting in the dining room, at dinner it seemed. To his left was his adoptive mother, and to his right was his adoptive father. He looked in front of him; there was a feast set on the table, even _tea_! It was all too good to be true!

…But _how_- and even more, _when_- did he get back home?

"Pip?" he heard his mother speak. He looked to her; she was leaning over the table towards him, a warm, loving smile beaming on her face. "Pip, dear. What took you so long?"

"I-I didn't mean to! I was hit in the head, and when I came to I was held captive in a hotel for three weeks by this…coven, I think is the best way to describe them, of traveling God-warrior ruffians! They kept me prisoner so that they could get to my friend Damien, the Anti-Christ, and kill him! But then three weeks later Damien helped me get out with the help of his half-brothers. They made this tower of rats and bugs and it carried me down to the ground from the second floor of the hotel. And we were driving back when were attacked my Elijah, one of the traveling God-warriors, and the car was banged up. So we went to Damien's sister's house where Damien and his siblings were having a meeting about something, and I meet this Voodoo man whose name was a day of the week. He told me all these horrible things about my future! He even said that I might _die_! But then Damien got me away from him and they got us a room to stay the night in at Damien's sister's house. And…and then…" his voice drifted off. Just _how_ _did_ Pip get home?

"That's quite a story, Pip." said his father, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, "But at least you're home."

"Yes, you almost missed it, Pip!" his mother chimed in. Missed? Missed what?

"Missed what, mum?" Pip asked. Before his mother could speak, the house shook. Furniture shook about, the walls quivered and the carpet floors quaked beneath his seat. There was a loud, deafening _boom_ outside. And as quickly it came, so quickly it also left.

"Why, Armageddon, of course." She said it as if it was nothing. No. No, that wasn't right. She didn't say it as if it was nothing at all, but rather something to look _forward to_. What was going on? "And we even have some guests over for Armageddon. Say hello, Pip."

He looked around, and standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining area was Micah, Mirabelle and their son Adam, Jacob, and Elijah. Oh. Oh dear!

Pip rose to his feet and began running. He ran out the dining room, into the living room and to the door. He griped tight on the handle and pulled it open with all his might. There was no way possible that Pip could have ever prepared himself for what he saw thereafter. Crumbling buildings, fires, people running in fear and despair, the skies blending between deep red and blackish-blue. The ground shook again, accompanied by the large _boom_ from before, and now some kind of unnatural beastly shriek. He looked around; this was awful. What was happening?

"Pip."

Damien. _Damien_!

"Damien! What's happening?" Pip asked. Damien didn't answer him. Damien didn't even look at him. He instead stared on to the chaotic destruction of South Park that played out before them both. "Damien! Answer me!" Damien walked away. Oh, the nerve! The audacity! Pip was a laid-back fellow, sometimes even to a fault, but even he had his limits! This was enough! He chased after the other, determined to get his answers from him.

He chased him through town. It was strange; no matter how fast Pip ran after him, he couldn't catch up with Damien, who was simply _walking_! He chased him through debris covered streets, through crushed buildings and seas of frightened citizens. He kept running until, at last, Pip finally caught up. He grabbed tight onto Damien's sleeve and turned him around.

"Answer me, Damien! Just what the bloody hell is going on?" he demanded angrily. Damien opened his mouth to speak-

A loud crash boomed and deafened Damien's words. Whatever that was, it was nearby. Far too close than Pip wanted it to be. An ear-busting shriek filled the air, so loud that Pip had to cover his ears.

_Boom_. _Boom_. _Boom_. _BOOM_.

It was moving closer to them. And then, from beyond the rooftops of the Main Street buildings of South Park, came a horrid, terrible, big-nosed metallic beast. It towered over everything, crushing the ground and buildings beneath its feet like a child would knock over small buildings of toy bricks. It breathed fire over the buildings, setting them aflame like dry wood in a fireplace. It roared and struck fear into the heart of Pip.

Mecha Streisand. He had heard of how the former big-nosed celebrity had tried to obtain ultimate power with the power of two gems, one of which Eric Cartman had found. But…but wasn't she destroyed by Robert Smith of The Cure? How was she rebuilt if she was destroyed? And who in their right or wrong state of mind would want to bring her back?

She knocked over a building, and burnt another down with her flaming breath. People ran in all directions away from her and the destruction she brought forth. It was terrible! It was awful! Someone had to stop her! Reason with her at least! He looked to his left, and then to his right. Everywhere he looked he saw people running away. Did no one else see that she could be reasoned with? Were they just going to let Mecha Streisand destroy South Park?

No. Pip wasn't going to stand for this! If no one else was going to try to stop her, then Pip would try to do it himself. He ran as fast as he could and stopped before the great mechanical beast. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. What? What was going on? Why wasn't he speaking?

Mecha Streisand looked at him, and then raised her giant foot. She was planning to step on him! Oh dear! Pip ran away, desperate to get out of the way of the gigantic foot coming down upon him. He looked dead ahead of him; standing in front of him was Damien, with arms crossed, and, strangely enough, Mister Saturday was with him, chuckling in delight as he shuffled his cards. He flipped up a card from the top of the deck. Despite the distance between them, Pip could see it clear as day.

A hooded figure, holding a skull in one hand and a scythe in the other, standing in front of a setting sun; the Death Tarot card.

And then, without warning, Pip was pushed to the ground-

Pip jolted awake. His breathing was erratic, his body covered in a sweat and the sense of fear still coursing through him. Everything was dark. He was lying down in a bed.

…It was all a dream?

A sense of relief came over him. Thank goodness. None of that actually happened. He was still alive. Micah and company were nowhere to be found. And most of all, no Mecha Streisand was destroying South Park. He breathed deep to slow down his racing heart, trying his best to calm himself from the nightmare he had not moments before. And in a small amount of time, Pip was fully at ease again.

It was short lived, however.

Just when Pip managed to calm down from the scare his nightmare had given him, a new sensation caused his heart to race again. Damien, in his sleep, had rolled over and loosely wrapped an arm around poor Pip.

A _lover's _embrace, it was called; named for the fact that such an embrace was shared between that of lovers, couples, and married folk. Not that of two nine, almost ten, year old boys. Pip didn't know what to do. His heart was skyrocketing at the touch, and he wanted to pull away. But if he did, then Damien might wake up. And Pip wouldn't want to bring that kind of misfortune upon his friend. So he waited, still as the grave, for Damien to hopefully roll over again.

…It felt kind of nice, though. The shared warmth between them, intensified beneath the comforter and sheets of the bed, blocked out any cold air the night had to offer. Damien's slow, steady breathing as he slept tickled the back of Pip's neck ever so slightly. The loose wrap of his arm brought him some comfort, knowing that a friend was there in case something happened.

Pip felt something then, as Damien slept so closely to him. It was strange and foreign, yet at the same time familiar. He had felt it once before, back in England. Back when he worked as a playmate for a beautiful, yet vain, little girl that lived in the old mansion with a just-as-old woman. Estella Havisham, the first person Pip ever had feelings for of the romantic kind…oh dear. Pip was starting to realize something about himself in the darkness of the room. Something he wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable with.

He…he needed fresh air. Yes. That was it. Pip would just go outside for a moment and think things over, and when he was done, he would come back inside, slip back into bed and no one would ever know. He slowly moved out of the bed, careful of Damien's arm and to not let it drop. Once he carefully laid the Anti-Christ's arm down on the mattress, Pip quickly yet quietly made he exit from the room. He walked lightly down the corridors and the hallways, until, at last, he came to the kitchen. How did he get to the kitchen? He was trying to get to the backyard. Why was the kitchen lit?

"Pip? What are you doing up at five in the morning?" asked a voice from behind him. He jumped a little in fright, and turned around to see Lilia right behind him. There was a bottle of some kind in her hand. A wine bottle, perhaps?

"I-I was going outside for some fresh air." he said.

"At five in the morning? When it's thirty or forty degrees outside?" Lilia asked. She seemed suspicious of him, and Pip began to feel worried. "Is there something on your mind you want to talk about?" Pip was silent, and eventually gave her a small, almost nonexistent, nod. Maybe it would help to get it all off his chest. Who knows? Maybe Lilia could even give him some advice. He wouldn't necessarily like to get advice from the Whore of Babylon on something like a potential crush on his friend, but it wouldn't hurt to have some insight from someone else, could it? "Okay. You take a seat at the counter and I'll pour you a drink."

"W-water, please." he said wearily. With that wine bottle in her hand, Pip didn't want to risk being served wine when he was clearly underage. Lilia looked at him, then at the bottle, and finally back at him and pouted.

"Fine. I guess I could give you water. Even if people are more honest about things when they're fucking wasted…" she trailed off as she walked to the sink, opened a cabinet above to pull out a glass, and then filled it up with water from the sink. She handed it to Pip, who took it and drank. She then took a glass for herself and poured the dark red liquid halfway full. She sat down next to him, wine bottle and glass both close at hand. "So, what's bugging my dear baby brother's favorite little boy toy?" She pinched his cheek playfully as she then drank from her glass.

…Did she have to call him that? And did she have to say it in a way that sounded like she was talking to an infant? And was pinching his cheek even necessary, for that matter?

"Well, I had this dream." he began, "I was at my house, with my mum and dad. We were talking, about where I was and how glad they were to have me home. Then my mum said that I had almost missed Armageddon. Then Micah, Elijah, Mirabelle, Jacob and Adam came in. Then I was running and I saw Damien. I tried to run after him, but couldn't keep up. When I did, I saw something awful."

"What was it?" she asked.

"A big, horrible, mechanical terror the citizens of South Park know as Mecha Streisand. She was destroyed some time ago, but was back. She was destroying South Park. Everywhere I looked, people were scared and running away from her. I tried to reason with her, but when I approached her, I couldn't speak. She then raised her foot to step on me, so I started running away. Before I woke up, I saw Damien and Mister Saturday. The very last thing I saw was the Death Tarot card Mister Saturday showed me when he read my fortune last night. And then I woke up." he said, "I was scared. Mister Saturday said that there would be death in my future, quite possibly my own. I don't want to die. Neither do I want anyone I know or care about to die."

"That's normal. No one wants to die. Not even us, and we're the children of Satan." Lilia said as she ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass, "But it was only a nightmare. Things such as that are very unlikely to happen in real life." This woman had apparently never stepped foot into South Park. South Park was a physical embodiment of Murphy's Law; anything that could happen, be it good or bad, would most likely happen in that town. So Pip couldn't help but feel that there was a legitimate chance that something such as what had happened in his dream could really happen. "Is that all that's bothering you, baby?"

He shook his head.

"W-when I woke up; Damien had an arm wrapped around me. Like…like-"

"A lover's embrace?" she said, sounded a bit too amused at what Pip was talking about. He could tell by the feral, flirtatious grin and subtle chuckle. No doubt because of her status as the Whore of Babylon, and probably influenced by the alcohol she was consuming. Who drinks wine at five in the morning anyway?

"Yes. And it kind of reminded me of my first crush. Mind you, my first crush was a girl back in England. But…now I-I-"

"You think you might have feelings for baby Damien?" she said as she refilled her wine glass. As embarrassing as it was, Pip nodded slightly. She hummed and turned to him. "So what's wrong?"

"I-I'm a boy! Damien's a boy! And we're both not even ten yet!" Pip said, voice escalating as he spoke. Did Lilia not see what was wrong? Boys weren't supposed to like anyone at this age, especially not each other!

"So?" she replied, "You care about Damien, don't you?" He reluctantly nodded. "You enjoy being around him?" Again he nodded. "And when you're around him, you feel butterflies in your gut and in your heart? Especially when he comes in contact with you?" Pip nodded a third time. Where was she going with this…? "So what's wrong? Love is love is love. You may have puppy love for Damien, but it's nothing to worry over."

Easy for her to say.

"That's easy for you to say, ma'am. No offense, but you're a bit of a loose harlot and don't worry about those kinds of things." Pip muttered. Lilia laughed at his words. "What? Did I say something strange?"

"No. Ironic." she said, "I've felt love's sting too, baby. And I had it bad. I was once in love with someone, but he never noticed. It didn't take me long to realize that it was never go to happen, so I gave up on the idea of love and stuck to what I was good at; lusting, living greedily and giving people false hope. Besides, I'm more than willing to do what I do best and be a whore than linger fruitlessly on something that won't happen." Her voice was dream-like, as if she was imagining that one person she was talking about. Pip couldn't help but what kind of person wouldn't acknowledge Lilia. "He's here, you know. In the house."

…The person she was in love with was one of her half-siblings? Or was it Mister Saturday? No, they seemed to have some kind of relationship, if just a sexual one. "Don't you worry, baby. If it's just puppy love, it'll go away soon. And if it's something more than that, well, I wouldn't say that Damien would reject you or anything. He'd have quite a catch. I must say that I'm a little bit jealous."

…What?

"Why don't you head back on up to bed, baby? It's still too early. Besides, if Damien wakes up he might start wondering where you've gone off to." She winked at him, and Pip felt a bit uncomfortable by her words and the notion. He quickly climbed down off the chair and walked toward the kitchen doors. "Pip." He turned to face her one last time.

"Yes ma'am?" he replied.

"About that dream of yours," she began, "Sometimes when the children of Satan gather together, it can leave side effects on anyone nearby. Although I don't recall there ever being prophetic dreams or something like that, there's always a chance." Pip didn't like where this was going. If she was saying that his dream was a foresight of what was to come, then that would mean-"Would you like to stay here, Pip?"

"Sorry," he said, coming back to the conversation, "What?"

"I said there was a chance that your dream could come true. If that were the case, you could avoid the fate you had in your dream and live with me. Would you like that?" she said.

Stay with her. Stay with _her_. Lilia; the Whore of Babylon and a daughter of Satan. He could barely stand staying one night in her house. How was he supposed to _live_ with her? "I got to be honest for once when I say this; my reasons are a tad bit selfish. After all, if I let you go with Damien I'll never get to see that darling shy face of yours again. Not to mention Damien doesn't deserve such an adorable little friend if you ask me. You should stay here, with me. I'll give you a large room filled with whatever you want. Toys, books, a large bed fit for a king, the finest clothes, anything. I'll give you the finest foods to eat and take you to the grandest places in the world. You'll have friends that would do whatever you wanted them to, whenever you wanted them to. You would have respect wherever you went from everyone that saw you. I'd give you anything you could ever want in life and then some. You'd live the life beyond that of a little gentleman; you'd be a little prince. All you'd have to do is revoke your little relationship with Damien, give up this foolhardy wish to go home- quite possibly to your own death- and stay here with me. What do you say?"

The offer sounded too good to be true. A high-society life, riches and respect, friends that wouldn't spit in his eyes or hair. He could have anything and everything he heart could ever desire; the world would be his oyster. He could return to England; he could see his sister and her husband Joe, the criminal that became his benefactor towards sophistication, maybe even Estella Havisham. He could finally be the gentleman he always wanted to be, if not more than that. And most of all, Pip wouldn't risk meeting his possible death.

He would never have to deal with any of the children of South Park Elementary ever again; those little buggers always resented him, even when he was occasionally included in their activities. They ridiculed and belittled him and mocked him of his heritage, most of the time not even bothering to remember which country he came from in the first place! Especially those four boys; Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski, Eric Cartman and Kenny McCormick. He could definitely deal without those four ever again.

It was like an offering of a gift from God. She was offering him the ideal paradise. The thoughts of never being spat on and possibly seeing his homeland again filled his head.

"What the hell is going on?"

The unexpected third voice surprised Pip and brought him from his thoughts. There, standing next to him, looking to be on the verge of a boiling rage, was Damien. Pip felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Oh, no. Just how much of that did Damien hear?

"Morning, baby brother," Lilia cooed, "Did you sleep well?" Damien glared at her, obviously not buying the sudden sweet demeanor she was putting on. As he continued to stare her down, Lilia soon let go of her façade and met him in turn with an equally hostile look. "What? Did I do something the baby didn't like?"

"You gave him an offer."

"Damn right I did. He probably would have taken it if you hadn't come in." she replied, "What? You don't want me going near him or something?" She was mocking him with every word she spoke. She had lost all that sympathy and supposed kindness that she had for Pip. The tension growing between them made him nervous. Damien grabbed hold of Pip's arm and gripped it tight and pulled it up to eye level. He did not look at Pip, but rather continued to stare down his sister.

"_Mine_." he said, "Don't ever, _ever_, try to make him an offer again."

"What about the one I just gave him?" she rebuked, casting a catty, taunting smirk their way as she refilled her glass. "He never did say whether or not he wanted to stay with me. Well, Pip? Still want to take my offer?" She glanced at him slyly, as if he was not a person but rather some helpless prey. Damien's grip on Pip's forearm strengthened as he slightly turned his head to face Pip as well.

Pip never wanted so much to be a mute in all his life as he did right now. If he were a mute, he wouldn't have to answer. He considered the offer; it sounded too good to be true and he probably would have accepted. But now…now was different. Now he realized that if he did take that offer, he would betray Damien. He would give up his friendship with him to live with Lilia. And he failed to realize that. How utterly selfish of him to not consider Damien and what he might want. He couldn't do it now. He simply couldn't agree to Lilia's terms.

"I-I can't," he said quietly.

"Can't? Or _won't_?" Lilia asked.

"Both."

"Fine. Go." She spoke so curtly, almost sounding disappointed in Pip's answer, before looking away and mumbling something. "…Not fair…" were the only things Pip managed to hear in her suddenly hushed voice. Damien pulled him away by his arm, down the hallways of Lilia's home and back to the room that she had lent them. Damien nearly slammed the door behind them. Pip flinched at the sound.

Damien was _seething_ with anger. Pip was almost scared to speak. _Almost_.

"Damien…?" he asked quietly.

"You were going to take that deal," Damien said. It was not a question, but rather a statement. He knew the truth, and Pip felt so full of guilt for it. "If I hadn't have spoken up, you would have taken that deal. And don't say you wouldn't, you're one of the worst liars I've ever met." He sounded angry and, if in the slightest bit, disappointed. He walked around the room angrily, not looking at Pip at all. He took some object- it looked like something small in the dark- and threw it across the room. It made a small crashing sound when it collided with the wall, and made Pip flinch again.

"What the _fuck_ were you thinking?" Damien snapped, "That bitch is the Whore of Babylon! You think she just fucks anything that moves and lives a life of luxury? _No_! She tempts! The bitch fucking tempts you with false hope and an offer you can't refuse and lures you in! You honestly think she was going to give you any of those things she promised you? What the fucking hell were you doing down there talking to her anyway?"

"I-I was going to go outside and get some fresh air and-"

"At five o'clock in the fucking morning? Do you think I'm stupid?" Damien asked begrudgingly. Before Pip had the chance to respond, Damien cut him off. "You know what? Never mind. Just get back in the bed and go to sleep. The sooner we get you back to South Park the sooner I have to stop having to take care of you." Pip said nothing in retaliation as he climbed back into the bed, Damien following suit.

Neither of them faced each other. Pip was torn being upset about it and relieved. He was upset because he couldn't look Damien in the eyes, tell him the whole truth-from the dream to the things that happened after he woke up- and offer his deepest apologies over and over until he was finally forgiven. He was relieved because Damien wouldn't be able to see the pinpricks of small tears forming as he laid there.

"Are…are you mad at me, Damien?" He asked the question, but was pretty sure he knew what the answer was going to be. His actions in the kitchen accompanied by the way he was acting right now confirmed it all. Damien was mad at Pip.

Bright red shone through the windows as the sun rose through the trees. The day had begun with a rift between them and feelings of guilt and hurt plaguing Pip.

* * *

**Yeah, does anybody else just want to punch Lilia in a face just a _little_ bit? I do. I never really liked her to begin with, and now the damn bitch is causing all this drama. GOSH. And Pip. GOD PIP. I swear, why can't you grow a permanent backbone? You seemed to have gotten one a few chapters ago. What happened to it? Go find it; your constant pansy-ness is getting annoying. And Damien...dude needs some frickin' meds. Like a mood stabilizer or something. Those angry episodes can't be too healthy. :|**

**So...given that I'm working at work most of the weekends, and doing school stuff the rest of the week, I think it would be safe to say we probably won't get the new chapter until somewhere in December. I'd like to get it done sometime over Winter Break, preferably before Christmas, but we can only hope and dream that I can get it done on time. In the time until then, please enjoy this chapter and bear with me until then!**

**I love you all. But I love those who tell me what they think of the chapters the most. Don't you want to be loved more than everyone else?**


	9. Unfair

**_Hello again. Sorry for such a long hiatus. Almost three years is an inexcusable amount of time to update a fanfiction. But after losing my original laptop with all my chapters and notes, getting caught up in college and working to save money for an apartment, I'm ecstatic to say I'm back and plan to finish this story. Sorry again for making anyone who enjoyed this story in the past wait so long. Let's get down to business, shall we?_**

**_I, EranthyaeNoire, have in no way, shape, or form ownership of South Park. The likes of which, including setting, characters, and any specific events mentioned in this fanfiction belong to the likes of Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I, personally, own only this fanfiction and any OCs, or Original Characters, that may take part in this fanfiction. Once again, I repeat that I do not own South Park._**

**Series: South Park**

**Rating: M for Mature. Such reasons include language, dark and/or suggestive themes, violence/gore, character death, and adult-like scenarios/concepts. Reader's discretion is advised. **

**Pairing: DamienxPip**

* * *

A wise, well-respected Englishman of the nineteenth century, for whom Pip held a great respect for, known to many as Charles Dickens, once wrote in one of his many stories; "In the little world in which children have their existence whosoever brings them up, there is nothing so finely perceived and so finely felt, as injustice."

And such finer words could not have been spoken about the subject. Particularly in Pip's case. Within the few months short of a decade of his life, Pip had been given a heaping pile of injustice and misfortune thrust upon him. He withheld the physical abuse of his older sister, one Mrs. Joe Gargery, and the verbal abuse of the fair Estella Havisham. He withstood the teasing, stereotypical remarks and eventual loss of interest and abandonment of the children at South Park Elementary. His father Phillip, mother Georgiana, and five elder stillborn brothers (to this day he remembered all their names; Alexander, Bartholomew, Abraham, Tobias and Roger), God rest their souls, had all left him for the afterlife before he had the chance to form memories of them. His accomplishments often went unnoticed and his failures were often ridiculed. Most of his friends had been left behind in England, and his only friend in America was currently not on speaking terms with him for what he had almost agreed to not an hour beforehand.

Yes, life was, in many ways, unfair, to Pip Pirrup. Which, in the modern American way of putting things, sucked.

Usually, when things got unfortunate for him, he would shake it off and try to think more optimistically. After all, if one thinks positively, then surely things will take a turn for the better, right? At least that's what he hoped how it would work out. Most of the times, however, it was seldom anything other than more misfortune. Sometimes he would try to think of what he did to deserve such misfortune. Sometimes he could come up with a reason or two. Sometimes he had no idea whatsoever.

This time, however, he knew exactly what he did to bring this unfortunate punishment of shoutings, things thrown followed by silent treatments and short, hateful glares from one who Pip considered his only friend away from England. Damien Thorn, the Anti-Christ and son of Satan himself, was completely seething in relatively justified anger towards Pip. And Pip couldn't really blame him.

Not an hour and a half- at best two hours- ago, Pip had awoken from a nightmare to a rather intimate touch from an unconscious Damien. Pip, seeking an immediate solace to calm down, sought to go outside, only to be found by one Lilia, Whore of Babylon. The two of them talked, about Pip's nightmare and Pip's possible feelings for Damien. And then Lilia offered him everything he could ever want in exchange for giving up his friendly relationship with Damien.

Pip almost accepted.

And Damien was behind them, watching the whole deal go down. Had he not said something before Pip had a chance to answer; Pip would have taken Lilia up on Lilia's offer. Since then, Damien has been in a sour mood towards Pip. He threw things across the room. He yelled and screamed and cursed and threw a tantrum. And Pip honestly couldn't blame him for doing so. If the roles had been reversed, Pip probably would have reacted the same way Damien did. And now Pip had to face the misfortune of his consequences of his actions.

Bollocks.

Within the hour and a half since the ordeal, Damien had done nothing but glare and not speak to Pip. And if he wasn't doing that, he was staring angrily into nothing to then throw something -sometimes -with his powers, sometimes with his own arms- at the wall just to watch it break. Every time Pip would flinch- sometimes slightly, sometimes quite noticeably- at the sound of the random object breaking as it collided with the wall. The floor was starting to become littered with broken shards and fragments. Pip's heart sunk at the thought of what Damien would use to vent his unfathomable anger once he had run out of things he could throw at the wall.

He needed to get his mind off of the idea. It was not good to start the day thinking of such things. He turned his gaze towards the window. The sky was colored all kinds of pastel hues of pink, light orange and blue as the sun slowly made its way up beyond the horizon. The clouds in the sky were lit shades of pink as the star lit up the morning sky. The various trees-

Crash!

-That particular vase came to close to Pip's head, causing the young Brit to shriek out in panic and lean away from the former vase's trajectory. Now that was a bit uncalled for. Pip was a usually forgiving person, but even he had his limits. Now he couldn't even try to get his mind off of the guilt he was now so plagued with because he nearly compromised his friendship with Damien for selfish reasons he otherwise would never have the opportunity to indulge upon? Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant.

Pip turned his gaze towards Damien, who returned it with a growing scowl. Pip's eyebrows furrowed down in the slightest at the sight. This behavior, although not unheard of for Damien, given their past interactions when Damien still attended South Park Elementary, were most unbecoming. Had he not known better, Pip would have called Damien out upon his uncouth tantrum. Yes, he was angry, but that was no reason to-

Boof!

One of the small decorative pillows from the bed was thrown across the room to collide with the back of the chair Pip was sitting on, narrowly missing him again when he ducked. Pip's limits of patience were being pushed farther today than they were the night before, and Pip wasn't quite sure how much longer he could endure. Damien was his friend, quite possibly his only friend since he went across the Atlantic to America. And now he had upset him. _Perha__ps_, Pip thought, _If I were to apologize he would forgive me for what I did. After all, that's what friends do in a situation such as this, right? When one upsets the other, the offender apologizes and the two resume being friends._ It was worth a shot, at least. Then, if he be fortunate enough, Pip could get it across that he was truly sorry for what he had done not two hours ago. And, should he be even more fortunate, Damien would understand the sincerity of how sorry he was and the two of them could resume being friends and spend the last few hours of this day together on good terms.

And, even better, Damien would stop throwing things at Pip. That at the very least would be a blessing.

Damien was looking around at the room in search of what he could possibly throw at Pip next. He was starting to run out of options, aside from the large furniture such as the bed, chair, dresser drawers and vanity table. All delicate things were now in small shards on the floor, the pillows were thrown every which way, fabric loosened and ripped, and some had goose feathers coming out of the seams. One table side lamp was crooked and the other was beyond repair from its previous collision with the floor.

Well, no time like the present.

"Damien?" Pip called out. Damien's head did not noticeably move, yet, if one were to pay a closely amount of attention to his eyes, one would have noticed that his gaze moved in the slightest towards Pip's direction. Pip, however, was too far away from Damien to notice such a miniscule movement. So, in the knowledge that he was no longer looking for something to throw at him and just standing there, Pip continued with his hopeful apology. "Damien, I just wanted to say how sorry I was. I know you're mad at me for almost accepting Lilia's offer, and in retrospect, you have every right to be. I truly do feel awful about it...and, well, I don't know what else I can do other than give you my utmost and sincerest apology. And I can only hope that you'll be willing to forgive me so we can go back to being friends."

There was a pregnant silence between them, and it made Pip worry. Did he sound sincere enough? Did he get across just how sorry he was about what had happened? Was Damien willing to accept his apology and forgive him? Or were the two of them doomed to part ways on unpleasant terms? Please say something, Damien. An acceptance, a rejection, a grunt, anything. Anything he could say would be better than the endearing silence that filled Pip up with worry.

"I see." murmured the Anti-Christ. I see. What could that mean? Did he accept Pip's apology, or did he just reject it in an unclear way? What on earth could Damien have meant by 'I see'?

"Um, Damien?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you mean by 'I see'?"

"I mean I see. You apologized because you feel bad. And, to be honest, I couldn't give a bigger fuck about whether or not you feel bad." Damien said. Well, that was a bit harsher than needed be. Pip began to wish he hadn't asked in the first place and just been satisfied with the previous silence. "You almost made a deal with Lilia and that's that. And when people feel bad about things they did- in your case, being a two-timing treacherous little piece of shit- they always grovel and beg for mercy."

Those words struck a little too close to home, leaving Pip in a midst of conflicting emotions. He was confused. He was a bit let down, knowing that Damien could see his feeble attempt of what was supposed to be a heartfelt and sincere apology as something pathetic and not worth his time. He felt a bit frustrated and upset; he just apologized for wronging Damien, and yet all Damien can say to him was an insult and pointing out, yet again, his mistake? Oh, it was almost enough to make him visibly upset. Calm down, Pip. Calm down. If he were to lose his composure he would compromise his visage as a gentleman he had worked for so hard to achieve.

"Th-that's a bit harsh, Damien." Pip stammered, trying his best to not let his frustration and whelming hurt get the better of him.

"I don't think you get it, though. 'Harsh' is natural for me, Pip. I am a child of Satan. I don't feel mercy or compassion or forgiveness. It's not in my nature. You're trying to ask for something that isn't there. It's kind of pathetic, really. So just stop now before I start getting annoyed and start thinking of actually hitting you with something. I just want to get you back to South Park now so I won't have to deal with you anymore."

Damien made it abundantly clear that Pip's attempts to mend things between had no more effect than beating a dead horse, if not with worse results. He hung his head in shame and in sorrow. "Sorry for bothering you, then." he muttered. He let out a small sigh and turned his head to the door. He might as well leave the room. He needed his clothes anyway, and it would give Damien time to- hopefully, if Pip were the least bit fortunate- think of maybe perhaps forgiving Pip. So, with a heavy heart and a sullen disposition, Pip took the steps toward the door.

And then a thought struck him.

Jacob. Jacob Heiden. The boy who had beaten Pip to a bloody pulp- with the faint remnants of bruises still on his face- and, more importantly, had a previous encounter with Damien. From what he was told, they were once friends, as Damien and Pip were. But, because of some reason, Jacob and Damien had a falling out, and resulted in the death of Jacob's family. Was he going through the same situation as Jacob now? If Pip left things the way they were, would he meet a same fate as Jacob did, or worse? This sudden realization planted seeds of fear and anxiousness in him, and they began to take root. If this were the case, Pip needed to do something. He couldn't let his foster family die. _He_ didn't want to die. Pip had to do something, quick, to get back on Damien's good side.

"Damien?"

"What?" Damien sounded most curt, as if he didn't want to be spoken to. Too bad, Damien. Pip needed to resolve the conflict between them, no matter how much Damien may not have wanted to.

"I know that you're mad at me for what I had done-"

"No shit, Sherlock."

"-But I want to make it up to you. I don't want the two of us to part ways on negative terms because of this. So what can I do to make it up to you?" Pip asked, facing Damien and trying his best to sound firm and confident in his words. In all honesty, he was a bit nervous, knowing full well Damien didn't really want anything to do with Pip at the moment, or quite possibly, for the rest of their lives. But there was no harm in trying, especially if something could be done about it.

Damien turned to him. His face was stern; lips pursed together, jaw clenched, thick, dark eyebrows furrowed downward, and his eyes were staring dead on at Pip. He seemed to be contemplating, quite possibly thinking of just what Pip could do to make it up to him. The silence in the air between them hung heavy, and every passing second that Damien did not utter something, the harder Pip's heart beat in anticipation. Finally, he took striding steps towards his English friend, stopping within half an arms' reach between them.

"Well, you can start by not assuming that just because I fought with Jacob and unleashed a Hell hound on his house, that it'll mean the same thing for you." Damien said. Pip could have sworn his heart skipped a beat, maybe two. How on earth could you have possibly known that Pip knew about that? "Yes, I know they told you. I'd be surprised if they didn't tell you their sob stories to try to win you over. And even if they didn't, it doesn't take a genius to see that Jacob has a reason to want to have me killed so badly. But, honestly, think about it. Why would I go through all this trouble to get you out of that hotel with those idiots if I were just going to kill you later? You know nothing, if at best very little, of our plans for Father."

"Then why did you go through all that trouble of telling me about them in the first place? I don't mean to offend, Damien, but it kind of painted a big target on my back when you came to visit me on the playground the day Jacob first came to our class." Pip replied.

"I needed an inside eye. They're essentially nomads. Sometimes they come to a town on a mission to hunt us down and kill us and other times it's simply to stop and resupply. My siblings and I need them to stay out of South Park, and if they had caught on to the importance of the town they definitely would have done something."

"Why?" inquired Pip.

"We have plans. Nothing more, nothing less." Damien answered, "And there's nothing more you need to know than that. I plan to hold you to your word, Pip. If there's anything in the future I may need you for, you _will_ help me. No exceptions."

"R-right-O. Gladly, Damien." Pip responded, slightly nervous as to what Damien could possibly mean by 'anything'. This talk of plans for South Park, especially since it was that of Damien and his siblings, rather than just Damien himself, also gave him some worry. But amongst the nervousness was a small bit of relief. He had managed to mend the gap between them, if just a little. And that was a good start. "I'm going to go fetch my clothes."

"Do you even know where Lilia's laundry room is?" Damien asked with just the slightest bit of accusation. Oops. Damien had him there. Lilia's house was so big and with so many rooms. Who knew where it could possibly in this labyrinth she called a house? Pip shook his head slightly, slightly embarrassed.

"Me neither. We might as well both go. If you go by yourself and ran into one of my brothers or sisters, chances are we'd have another event from last night." Really? All of Damien's brothers and sisters would want to make deals with Pip? He couldn't really come up with a reason why; he was nothing particularly special. Perhaps it had something to with the fact they were, essentially, demons. And, according to the Holy Bible, demons wanted to tempt and corrupt humanity to bring their souls to Hell. But Pip wasn't an expert on religion, so he could only assume that this was the reason.

He followed behind Damien as the other led them through hallway after hallway, taking twists and turns ever so often. It was almost like a labyrinth; nigh impossible to make heads or tails and easy for one to lose their self in the complexity of it all. Though now morning, and despite the occasional low-lit lamps, there was a lingering darkness that encompassed them. There was silence. It followed them like a bloodhound and surrounded them like the very air they breathed. It was a bit unsettling. It put Pip on edge. There was just something about this place and the silence and darkness with it that seemed frightening. If Pip hadn't known it to be absolute nonsense, he would almost think that something was following them. But, of course, that was absolu-

_Creeek_.

Oh dear. What was that? Pip looked over his shoulder for a moment. There's nothing there. There's nothing there. He was imagining things, there was nothing there. Please, dear Lord, let there be nothing there.

Nothing. Not a sign of life to be seen, normal or paranormal. Oh, thank goodness. Pip let out a small, almost unnoticeable, sigh of relief. Nothing was there. Just his mind playing tricks on him, right? Yes, that had to have been the case. He turned back around, ready to follow after Damien yet again. His heart sank, and then flew into a fury of heightened beats.

Damien was gone.

Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear! Where had he gone off to? And in such a short amount of time?! He hurried to the nearest turn in the hallway. Please let him be there. Please, please, oh _please_, let him be there and not too far ahead of him. With a quickened pace he turned to at the corner, and found himself confronting a figure.

One not at all resembling his friend Damien in any way, shape or form. Male, yes, but taller, with broad shoulders and a disapproving scowl hidden under thick eyebrows and facial hair. He had a large belly protruding from his finely tailored waistcoat and a small hat to hide what looked like receding hair. He was finely dressed, to say the least. He looked down at Pip with an air of superiority, as if silently demanding "How dare you get in my way?!"

"I-I'm sorry, sir. Have you seen my friend Damien?" Pip asked. Perhaps he had seen him and would point him in the direction.

"You're a human." he said. He did not ask it, nor did he say it in a bland manner. The man spoke it in a derogatory manner, as if being a human made him lesser than the large man. "Why on earth would the youngest of my brethren rub elbows with the likes of a human?"

"I was his friend when he came to my elementary school last year. Have you seen him?" Pip asked again.

"Hmph. Helen!" bellowed the large man as he turned to behind him, his voice resonating through the halls and in Pip's ears. The sound of a door opening and quickly closing, following by the sound of women's' heels clacking against the floor, keeping a steady and fast past until at last the serious-looking businesswoman known as Helen Dinero appeared.

"Yes, sir?" she answered curtly. He turned to her with a disgusted look, mouth turned down in a frown and eyebrows corrugated downward. He pointed one of his large pudgy fingers towards Pip, followed by a small wave of his whole hand.

"Get rid of this, if you will. I don't wish to see this _thing_ in my sight." he said, emphasizing 'thing' with a copious amount of mockery and disdain. Okay, Pip understood. The man did not like Pip and especially did not like him being a human. "And make sure my flight to New York in underway. If I'm late for my meeting with the Board of Directors and the lawsuit at the courts afterwards it will be your blood, not mine, to be shed. And for fuck's sake, woman, make yourself presentable! I won't have my secretary dressed in anything less than Armani or Dolce & Gabana! What would it say about me as an employer?!" He was quite prideful. Was Miss Helen Dinero really in the servitude of the embodiment of Avarice? He seemed to be more prideful than greedy.

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." Helen answered as she then took a firm hold of Pip by the shoulder and pulled him away. She had a remarkable grip for such a thin woman. Her manicured nails kind of hurt as she kept his shoulder in her grasp. Once the two of them were out of sight and sound of Helen's employer, whoever he was, she finally let go of his shoulder. She pushed him against the wall and held him there by his head. How was such a small woman so strong? And, furthermore, why was she pinning him against the wall?

Oh dear. When he said 'get rid of this', he meant 'kill him', didn't he? That did make sense. From what he's witnessed thus far, the only one of the children of Satan interested in keeping Pip alive was Damien, and he was nowhere to be seen right now. Pip grabbed onto her wrists to pry her hands from his head, hoping to make a break for it. Her grip really was ridiculously strong. The back of his head was beginning to hurt against the wall, and the front was beginning to hurt from the firm hand that kept it there.

With her hand firmly on the front of his face, his eyes were shielded from what was going on, having to thereby rely on his other senses to understand what she was going to do. He heard the rustling of fabric. He heard a soft _click_. That could be one of two things that first came to Pip's mind; switchblade opening, or a small gun with the safety lock now removed.

Why, Helen? She seemed like a reasonable and sane woman last night? Why now was she trying to do in the young Brit? He pushed at the hand, determined with every fiber of his being to get out of this woman's grip and run. He felt her hand starting to budge, and with this new sensation felt his determination to do so increase tenfold. He could do it! He wasn't entirely helpless! Just a little more- come on- just a little more!

Finally! Freedom!

He dashed away as fast as his feet and legs would able him, doing his best to outrun this subtly psychotic woman in a business suit. He could hear muffled shots of what he now knew to be a handgun, and the loud _thumps_ of bullets colliding of the wall only confirmed this. He had to hurry and get away from the armed woman. He turned at corners and sprinted down hallways. He looked over his shoulder, hoping and wishing and praying that there wasn't Helen Dinero behind him with whatever weapon she had planned to do him in with. No Helen. Thank goodness.

He began to slow down, becoming a tad exhausted from his previous sprint. Before coming to a complete stop, however, he collided with something. Scratch that, someone. The 'oof' was proof enough of his collision with a person.

"Where the fuck did you go?" asked an aggravated Damien Thorne, "And why the fuck were you running?"

"She- Helen- oh God," Pip let out, doing his best to catch his breath, "Tried t-to kill me! She tried to kill me! The large man told her to!"

Damien looked at Pip in disbelief, as if confused by his friend's words. What was there to be confused about? Pip made it clear; the large man told Helen to kill him and Pip had to run for his life to avoid getting killed. That was pretty simple to follow, wasn't it? "Pip, everyone else aside from you, me and the Whore is gone. We're the only ones in the house." Pip looked at Damien in confusion as he continued to catch his breath. Gone? Well, that couldn't be right, could it? Pip could still faintly feel the strong grip Helen had on his head. There could be no way he imagined it all; it was all too real.

"Not that I don't believe you, Damien, but could you please explain why I was nearly maimed just now if we're the only ones here?" Pip inquired, "She threw me into a wall, Damien. I hope I don't sound rude or anything, but it's kind of hard to just imagine something like that. And where did you go? I look away for a moment and you vanished!"

"I didn't go anywhere, dipshit. You were the one that went missing," Damien retorted crossly, "I don't know exactly how, Lilia's place is all kinds of fucked up, but somehow you just vanished for a moment. We can ask the damn bitch how when we get downstairs. Now, come on. I'm tired of having to goddamn babysit you." Damien took hold of Pip by his shirt and pulled him along firmly. He could walk. Why did Damien need to hold on so tightly to his shirt as if he couldn't?

The two of them walked down the hallways and, at last, came to the stairs. After going down said flight and passing through yet another labyrinth-esque hallway the two finally came across somewhat familiar territory. The counters, the chairs, the stainless steel fridge, the large windows; at last they had come to the kitchen. And there, still in the robe she was wearing not a few hours earlier, still drinking wine, was a rather sour looking Lilia. She took but one look at them, looking quite irritated as her eyes narrowed and burned with some unknown emotion. "Well, well. If it ain't m'baby brother and his butt buddy. Whadya waant?" she asked, words slurring a bit. How much wine has she consumed since they left her hours before?

"Our siblings have left and yet someone nearly killed Pip. Explain." Damien said as he finally released his hold on Pip's shirt. Pip straightened it, trying to make it look presentable. Lilia groaned as she laid her head on the counter with her hand still wrapped around the wine bottle. After a few seconds of sitting like that, she brought her head back up.

"Fuck if I know." she said, "House is all kinds of fucked up. Shit moves, see things in places, all other kinds of weird ass shit happening. Especially with all you sons of bitches running around making this house more damned than usual." She frowned at her younger brother. "Y'know, I honestly couldn't give a rat's ass about the plan for Father. So why the hell you fuckers came all came here is just beyond me." She took another swig of the wine, straight from the bottle.

The drinking had made her beauty tarnish immensely. Her previously lovely face lost the allure and inviting glow it had before and was replaced with ugly circles under her eyes and creasing scowl marks. Her hair stuck to her forehead in a sticky mess. The bitterness in her voice and words and the arching slouch gave her the impression of some cruel old hag. It was almost strange to see one who was once so lovely the night before now so honestly unappealing. She turned her gaze to Pip.

"Don't you look at me like you're sorry for me, you limey piece of shit!" she shrieked, pointing one finger at him. Pip jumped at the sudden shrillness in her voice. "Get out of here! Go!"

"Tell us where the laundry room is." demanded Damien firmly. Lilia promptly responded with an obscene gesture and another drink from the bottle. "That doesn't tell me anything." Another gesture. "Just answer the goddamn question, bitch."

"Down the hall, third door on the left before you get t'the garage, goddammit," Lilia said exasperatedly, "Now get the hell out!" And they did just that, and left the Whore alone in her kitchen with her alcohol and her sour mood.

Pip and Damien walked to the laundry room in silence, not even casting a glance at each other. At least, Pip was sure they weren't. He definitely wasn't. He was a bit too preoccupied looking at the ground and thinking. Lilia seemed like such a pleasant woman from the night before, and not a few hours ago as well. Was that just a ruse? Was Damien being truthful when he said that it was all to bait one in? Was that atrocious behavior from moments before what Lilia was really like? Or was it all the alcohol that she consumed finally taking its toll on the young woman? It was all a bit much for the young Brit to comprehend and think over. Oh dear.

"Pip, quit thinking and go get your damn clothes." he heard Damien say, pulling him from the occupying thoughts. Oh? They were here already? That was rather quick. Fumbling briefly before regaining his composure, Pip nodded and then opened the door. The laundry room was small and quaint, as most laundry rooms tended to be. The washing machine and dryer stood beside each other in matching off-white on the right side of the doorway. To the left was a small cabinet, and on it, clean, pressed, and folded neatly, was Pip's clothes.

He was beaming. Pip had never been so happy to see clean clothes, _his_ clothes, in all his life. There were wonders done. The bloodstains, the layers of dust and dirt and the sheer filthiness of wearing the same thing for nearly three weeks seemed to have been wiped clean from the fabrics. If Pip hadn't known any better, he could have sworn they were brand new.

"What're you waiting for? Permission? Change, dumbass!" Damien said shortly. Oh, right. He needed to change. The sooner he did that, the sooner he could get back home to South Park. One by one he shed the loaned clothes, making sure to put them in the hamper nearby. Button up shirt, blazer, and bow tie. The knee-length slacks and the socks, and to pull the ensemble together, the brown newsboy cap. It felt good to be back in his own clothes, his own _clean_ clothes, again. All that was left now were his shoes, which resided back in the bedroom. Things were finally starting to get back into the usual state of normality he was accustomed to. It wouldn't be long now.

"All set, Damien. Well, just about. Still need to get my shoes from the room." Pip said, a small grin on his face and giddiness in his voice. Damien looked about as unamused about Pip's clean attire as Pip was joyous about it. "Shall we get going?"

"Where's this sudden damn chippy attitude coming from?" Damien asked as the two of them walked down the hallway, "I swear, you're a damn emotional roller coaster sometimes."

"I'm wearing my own clothes and they're clean for the first time in weeks. I get to go home after being held hostage and terrified out of my mind by both normal and paranormal individuals. And I think I managed to get back on good terms with my only friend. Things seem to be turning up, so I can't see why I shouldn't feel a little happy about it." Pip responded, "Maybe after all the rubbish that went on these last few weeks, the powers that be are finally letting up a little." The grin couldn't go away. That feeling that things are getting better wouldn't go away.

"Only friend?" repeated Damien.

"Well, yes. I've lost contact with Joe and Estella, and Pocket died of Hepatitis B some time ago, and all the children at South Park elementary don't really seem to enjoy being around me all that much, so all that really leaves is you, Damien." Pip explained, "You could even say you're my best friend."

Damien stared for a brief moment, seeming to contemplate as to how he should react to such a statement, before finally turning away and walking on with Pip following not far behind. The two of them walked along in silence, slowly becoming more and more uncomfortable. Pip wondered if what he had said may have bothered Damien and whether or not he should say something. After all, from what Pip had gathered, Damien didn't really have friends, and the only people he associated with on a regular basis were a family of hell spawn half-siblings who could care less for his welfare and a renegade group of individuals intent on killing him for the sake of the world. Perhaps the idea of a friend would be rather foreign to-

"Pip?" Damien asked.

"Yes Damien?" replied Pip.

"That was a bit gay, don't you think?"

Or, then again, maybe the silence wasn't a matter of whether or not Damien was comfortable being called Pip's best friend, but rather a delayed negative response. Oh well. He should have expected as such by now from Damien, Pip mused. He wasn't some lonesome little boy like Pip was. He was a determined and surprisingly calculating son of Satan with unknown ambitions. Pip really needed to keep these kinds of things in mind.

As Pip continued to ponder over the complexity of Damien and his friendship of sorts with him, the two finally reached back to the kitchen. Lilia was nowhere to be seen. The bottle she was tending to earlier rested upon the counter on its side, its contents dripping onto the counter. Where did she go? Pip took a step forward before being stopped by Damien's hand. He turned to the young Anti-Christ and was met with a facial expression he had yet to ever see on Damien: apprehension. Something about the scene made the young boy nervous. Seeing this made Pip feel worried.

He turned his gaze back to the kitchen, and his eyes noted something he previously did not see. On the floor, almost completely hidden behind the counter and counter chairs, laid a bloodstained, manicured hand. Was that Lilia? Was she dead?

The audible dry swallow and slow backwards retreat of Damien proved his suspicions. Fear sunk back into Pip's heart and burrowed its talons, securing itself there. He felt himself jump and almost let out a startled cry when he felt Damien's hand tightly grip his wrist. If he held on any tighter, Damien could very well inflict some injury to his wrist. This was so unlike Damien. There were no cold-hearted facades or unreadable poker faces or cold words and threats to cut to the very core of one's being. There was only something very human that Pip had yet to ever see from him: fear.

The two of them simultaneously walked back slowly, hoping to not to indicate to whatever that killed the former Whore of Babylon that there was still two living beings in the house.

"Boys."

Damn.

Pip looked over his shoulder to see a man in a trench coat. Elijah. He hadn't much time to register much else before being pulled violently by Damien away from the man. The two bolted away as fast as their feet would carry them. Damien would levitate nearby items and throw them in Elijah's direction. When he threw a vase, the sound of gunshots and shattering porcelain filled the air. He was armed. Elijah had at the very least one gun on his person and had the intent of using it. With as much speed as the two could muster with the minor assistance of whatever Damien could find to throw at him, the two made their way down the labyrinth like hallway. Gunshots rang out and Elijah's steps were quick and audible and every sound Pip heard made him wish more and more that he could run all the more faster away.

They ran down the end of one hallway and were met with a door. Damien flung it open and pushed Pip inside. A gunshot rung out, followed by the sharp, painful cry of one Damien Thorne. Pip's heart raced in fear at the sound of it and turned to look at his friend.

"Don't fucking stop! _Move_!" yelled Damien as he slammed the door shut and locked it. He slammed his hand against a button next to the door, causing the garage door to begin to open. Pip ducked down to make his way underneath to get outside, but a firm hold on the collar of his shirt held him back. He turned to see Damien silently point to the car, and followed after him. Ducking behind the far side of the vehicle behind a wheel, Pip did his best to be quiet and hope they would not be found. He jolted when he felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned to Damien, who pointed to underneath the car. He watched the other crawl underneath. Surely he would be spotted if-

BANG! BANG!

The fired shots of Elijah's weapon bellowed in the air, and Pip let out a small cry and instinctively ducked, his hands covering his ears to block out any more noise. He quickly shuffled underneath the car next to Damien, looking to the other for guidance. What now? If, no, _when_, Elijah finally broke down through the doors and made his way inside, what would they do? They were sitting ducks. There was no way-

The door banged open and Elijah ran in. From underneath the vehicle Pip could see the tip of the handgun, and became consumed with fear. This was the end, wasn't it?

He watched Elijah's footsteps make their way around the garage, then quickly head for the door. Please let him leave. Please let him not notice them. Please, please, _please_ don't let them die. Thoughts such as these raced through Pip's mind as he watched, and he nearly let out a startled cry when he felt something on his hand. He turned his head to see Damien's hand on his. He looked to the other. With his free hand the other put a finger to his lips in a hushing manner, then averted his gaze to the armed man feet away. He took the free hand and placed it flatly on the ground. Small cracks began appearing from under the palm, steadily making their way towards Elijah. The floor beneath him began to crack and crumble, and finally cave in underneath him.

Pip watched in awe and terror as the man clung to the edge of the pit. He could see faint glows of fire on his back as he struggled to keep himself above the floor. It brought back memories of what happened at Cartman's birthday party forever ago. The fathomless hole full of fire Damien brought forth was almost identical to the one he used on Pip. How long would it be before those demonic entities that made a spectacle out of him would turn to Elijah? He could feel his fear rising and clenched his hands tightly into fists. His heart was racing, skin forming a coat of sweat and his eyes felt like they were about to spew forth a river of tears. He heard some shuffling to his left and turned to see Damien making his way out from under the car. The boy stood up and slowly made his way to the edge of the pit, casually kicking away the handgun away from Elijah. Pip pressed his face as close to the pavement floor and watched. Damien glanced his way and grinned, then turned his gaze back to Elijah.

"Little harder to shoot me now, isn't it?" Damien said, kneeling down in front of the man. The ground continued to crack underneath Elijah, forcing the man to strengthen his grip on the ledge. "You're not so big and bad without a gun, huh? Can't even get up out of that hellhole and come after me, can you, you son of a bitch?!" His voice was increasing in volume and his tone was dripping in sadistic mockery. A wild, toothy grin was spreading quickly on his lips.

"Hellspawn…" grunted Elijah as he struggled to hold on, "You're as dead as the Whore. As all the others."

"You know, I'd believe that more if I was down there and you were up here." Damien replied as he stood up, slowly pacing along the edge with his hands placidly hanging behind his back, "None of us even really liked Lilia anyway. You practically did us a favor sending her back home for a few years."

The faint sounds of cackling and screeches could be heard now, and were increasing in their volume. They were coming. It wouldn't be long now.

"Oh, you hear that?" Damien said, placing a hand to his ear and leaning forward to the pit, "Sounds like someone's gonna get themselves torn about thirty new ones. Hope you like Hell, motherfucker!" And then they came. Dozens of shadowy forms clawing at the man, gripping and pulling and scratching at him to drag him down below. Their screeches and cries pierced the air and rung in Pip's ears. Even with his palms pressed closely to his ears as possible he could hear those pitched shrieks and it frightened him. Elijah was resilient, however, despite the deep claw wounds in his back he continued to keep his hold over the edge.

Damien, it seemed, wasn't having any of that.

Pip could see the other walk away from the edge towards outside the garage. He heard the sound of something picked up and the young Antichrist's steps returning.

BANG!

The shot of the gunfire made Pip jump and cry out.

Elijah's now dead body went limp. It was quickly pulled down below by the demonic apparitions. As quickly as the pit appeared it quickly disappeared, the fallen pieces of concrete returning to the proper places and the cracks vanishing altogether.

* * *

_**Well, that's the end of the chapter. What do you guys think? Do I still got it after all these years? I plan on finishing it either way, but do feel free to tell me what you think. I'll try to get the next chapter up soon!**_


	10. Homeward Bound Boy

_**Hello, everybody! Or, rather, anybody who still bothers to read this. I hope that you're all well. Here is a new fanfiction chapter for you all to enjoy. I hope that you like it. I will try to get a new chapter as soon as I can, with work and school and apartment shenanigans to deal with as well. Anyways, enjoy!**_

_**I, EranthyaeNoire, have in no way, shape, or form ownership of South Park. The likes of which, including setting, characters, and any specific events mentioned in this fanfiction belong to the likes of Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I, personally, only own this fanfiction and any OCs, or Original Characters, that may take part in this fanfiction. Once again, I repeat that I do not own South Park.**_

**Series: South Park**

**Rating: M for Mature. Such reasons include language, dark and/or suggestive themes, violence/gore, character death, and adult-like scenarios/concepts. Reader's discretion is advised.**

**Pairing: DamienxPip**

* * *

Pip heard the far off clatter of plastic and hoped that it was the gun being dropped. He would not dare move if it were something else. Not that he could move to begin with.

His heart was beating away so much it hurt and he felt short of breath. His mind felt numb and incapable of all thoughts, yet the images of what just happened added with what he was reliving from Cartman's party were there. The caving in of the ground, the fiery pit below, the demonic entities ushered forth at Damien's command; he had been victim to it all. What's more, he just saw it all happen again, this time to someone else. And he couldn't shake the feeling he was going to be next. Any minute now Damien was going to do the same thing to him, wasn't he? He did it before and did it to Elijah just now. What was to stop him from sending Pip down below?

This wasn't fair. It wasn't fair in the slightest. He was going to die now, he just knew it. There was no avoiding it and it was terrifying. The fear made his gut twist and made him feel sick. Tears were coming and he was too consumed in the feeling to even try to do anything about it.

"Pip."

He jolted at the call of his name. Words. He needed to say words. Bollocks, why couldn't he bring himself to say anything?

"Pip!" The second time was much more commanding. "Get out from under the car, _now_."

Shakily, Pip crawled out from underneath the car. His eyes locked onto Damien, who stared back with the lingering gleam of whatever blood-riling thrill he felt from before. Pip could feel his body shake a bit as the other stared him down, anticipating whatever demise he was sure to fall prey to. The other took a step towards him and Pip immediately made his way away from Damien. Don't, please. Please.

"We're going back to South Park now, Pip. Come on." said Damien as he reached out and pulled the other by his arm. Pip, in turn, pulled his arm away.

"Don't touch me!" he yelled. He was a little taken aback with his sudden outburst, that in his state of panic he was even capable of speaking, much less a coherent and demanding sentence. Damien was apparently taken aback by Pip's response as well. He stared at the other with irritability and confusion, and then followed by the slightest signs of anger.

"What the hell is your problem? You want to go back to South Park, don't you?!" snapped Damien, "If you do I suggest you get your ass in gear and come on before my patience wears thin. Quit being such a pansy and get moving!"

"J-just don't touch me," Pip repeated.

"Why the fuck not?"

"You'll do it again."

"Do _what_?"

"What you just did to Elijah," said Pip, "You did it to me before. Please don't touch me. Please don't do it again." A silence hung between them, and Pip could not bring himself to look at Damien. He was frightened more than he had ever been in his life. The possibility of having to go through all that again was crippling him to the very core of his being. He hoped and wished and prayed that Damien would have a moment of empathy and understand. It probably wouldn't happen. And so in the silence that they shared he waited for his untimely demise.

"I wasn't going to do that."

The words caught him off guard. His voice was softer than before. If Pip had never met him before and heard his voice for the first time, he would think Damien to be a kinder, more compassionate person than he truly was. He raised his head and faced Damien. The other's gaze had softened a bit, though still showed obvious signs of irritation. "I admit it, I'm a fucked up little bastard. What I did to you could be seen as terrible, but I really don't feel any remorse about it. I can't feel remorse about it. But what I did to you-" Damien paused and pointed to Pip, "-and what I just did to that prick-" he paused again to point at the ground, "-are two different things. One was to get a bunch of nine year old shits to like me enough to let me into a party. The other was a means of survival because I'm not sure if you remembered this, but he was hell bent on getting us both killed. I don't even know if any of my other siblings actually left the house or if they are dead. And frankly, I don't give damn. I just did what I feel I had to do in order to ensure both of us live. If I had any feelings of remorse I would apologize to you for this apparent trauma you're going through, but as the fruit of Satan himself's loins I can't do that. But despite all that I want you home in South Park, _now_. So do us both a favor and get moving."

For a moment he stood there, back still pressed against the far reaches of the garage walls. Pip's eyes were locked on Damien, searching rapidly for some indication that there was the slightest bit of insincerity and deception in his words and behavior. He was scared stiff; it felt that if he were to take the slightest of steps forward, Damien would turn on him in a second and reopen the pit and have him pulled down, too. His jaw trembled slightly and his shoulders shook, and could only manage the slightest of shakes of his head as he slumped back down onto the floor. He pulled his hands over his head and succumbed to the nervous shaking, unable to control himself. Maybe, just maybe, if he sat still long enough and was quiet enough it would all go away. The demonic children of Satan, the crazy band of hooligans trying to hunt them down, the giant house he was currently in; maybe, just maybe, it would all go away any moment now.

He heard an aggravated sigh followed by the sounds of footsteps making their way towards him. "Pip," he heard Damien say. His voice was in that same softer tone from moments before. It captivated Pip's attention, and he lifted his head up towards the other. Damien's face was one of pure impatience; his eyebrows were furrowed, his lips pursed slightly, his nostrils flaring slightly when he breathed. Yet his dark eyes seemed to portray some other emotion. It was hard to pin down, but it was soft and captivating and made his fearful heart at ease a little. "I get that what you just saw was scary for your puny human psyche and probably brought back some unpleasant memories of the last time I was in South Park. But we don't know if Elijah was the only one here. And if he wasn't, we need to get out as soon as possible. I still want you home in South Park. So let's go." He held out his hand to Pip, and gave him a waiting look.

Pip hesitated for a moment before finally reaching out. He hesitated again before finally lightly placing his hand in Damien's. The other's grip on his hand tightened as Damien stood up, pulling up the other as he did. Damien then released his hold on Pip's hand and made his way outside the garage door. When he reached the outside of the garage, he turned to Pip, waiting for him to follow after him.

Slowly, Pip inched his way closer to Damien, taking small baby steps at first. When it seemed apparent that Damien was going to make good on his word and do nothing to him, he transitioned to normal steps and began walking alongside the other outside the garage. They made it down the driveway to the edge of the road. Rocco's car sat on the curb. It wouldn't be long now, soon they would be back in South Park and soon Pip would be home. And the sooner that happened, the sooner he could put all of this behind him and get back to the mundane, semi-normal life he had in South Park.

Or, at least he would, had Rocco not be sitting in the car with a bullet wound in his head.

Damien, Pip quickly learned, did not take to this very well. If the mailbox suddenly immersed in a flame were any indication, this was not boding well at all for him. "Are you kidding me?! Are you _fucking _kidding me?!" he shouted angrily, fists clenched tightly as he kicked the car's tire, "There goes our way back to South Park!"

Pip opened his mouth to speak, only to shut it again when he realized he didn't really know what to say. Lilia, before her untimely murder, offered him to stay with her. Elijah had tried to murder the both of them in his quest to prevent whatever Armageddon he and Micah believed to be coming. And now their only ride back to home was shot in the head. It was almost as if the world was doing everything in its' power to keep Damien and Pip from returning back to South Park. And it was a bit upsetting. Damien violently pulled open the car door and sat down in the front passenger seat.

"Get in," he said astutely. Pip was a bit lost as to why, given the driver was dead. His feet were as firmly planted to the ground as could be in his confusion, and had he began to wonder if Damien was starting to lose his head in the midst of all that had happened this morning. "I'm going to try something, get in!" His previously rooted feet became a bit mobile as he slowly made his way into the back seat of the car.

"Damien, what ar-"

"Shut up." interrupted Damien, "I need to focus if I want to see if I can actually do this." And so Pip did silence himself. He heard Damien breathe in deep and the sound of the leather seat bend beneath his weight as he leaned back. There were a pregnant pause of silence and Pip contemplated getting out of the car. Whatever Damien thought was going to happen didn't seem to be working out the way he-

The sudden hum of a revving engine stopped Pip's thoughts. Well, that was unexpected and the littlest bit relieving. Damien leaned over and pulled the shift downward and glanced back at Pip. His dark eyes seemed to almost dance with pride and excitement. He turned back around and appeared to be focusing again. And this time the car jutted forth unexpectedly. Damien punched the ceiling of the car with both of his fists. The car continued to go forward in a series of jutted stops, slowly becoming more and more fluid and consistent like actual driving. By the time they reached the end of the cul-de-sac, Damien's hold on the car's movements were all but convincing that the one behind the driver seat was driving the car. By the time the car had left the neighborhood, Damien moved the car as if he were the one in the seat rather than the dead corpse of his brother and had years of experience. It was a bit surprising; he had seen Damien move objects before, yet nothing of this size and at this distance. Pip was impressed by the feats Damien was apparently capable of. And with each passed street and made turn, his impression and admiration of Damien grew.

This was it. He was finally getting home. Thanks to Damien and his awe inspiring abilities brought by his parentage, he was finally getting to go home. He was finally going to get to see his adoptive mother and father again. He was going to be able to sleep in his own bed again. He was going to be able to go to school again and see his classmates, even the ones he didn't enjoy the company of. He was going to be able to wear something aside from the same garments he wore for three weeks straight. And it was all thanks to Damien.

A thought struck him then; what about Damien? The other always talked about getting Pip back, yet never said anything of the sort if he would be going back to South Park as well. Would Damien be staying this time in South Park once Pip got home? Or was he going to vanish without a trace again and leave Pip without a friend in the world again? The thought of being alone and friendless in South Park again made his heart ache. He didn't want that. Not again. He lifted his gaze to Damien, who was focused on the road ahead of them. Pip let out a small sigh. He might as well ask. It was better to ask and lose all doubt than to let himself get his hopes up as the ride went on, wasn't it?

"Damien?" He waited for a response, and was met with none. He thought it best to continue regardless. "You're always talking about how you want me back in South Park, but you never say anything about yourself. Am I to take it that means once I'm back home I won't be seeing you again?"

His question was answered by Damien's silence, and Pip's heart sunk. It was going to happen again, wasn't it? He was going to lose his only friend again and be left all alone in South Park, Colorado without anyone to remotely call a friend. "I'm going to miss you, old chap."

Damien briefly turned his head towards Pip, yet never made it far enough to face him directly. He sat that way for a brief while, as if contemplating whether or not to speak to Pip. And, if he were to speak to him, just what he would say. But he said nothing, and in time turned back to the front of the car.

A heavy silence hung in the air of the vehicle between them. Pip stared outside of the car, watching trees pass by on the edge of the highway. His head lightly rested against the glass. Why couldn't Damien stay in South Park? He made Micah swear, albeit against his will, to stay out of South Park. If he wasn't going to be coming back, then surely one would think that it would be the safest place for him. And, for Pip's more selfish reasons, he would be there with Pip. The two of them could be friends as they were the last time Damien was there. They could go to school together, eat lunch together, play on the playground and hang out after school together. Pip could invite him over to his house and they could play games and watch movies and maybe, if he were fortunate enough, have sleep overs. It would have been perfect to have Damien stay in South Park. But he wasn't. And it was so unfair.

It wasn't long after they made the turn off the highway the car began to swerve. Pip bumped his head against the glass window and was brought away from his thoughts. What now? He turned around, almost expecting something to be behind them ready to attack the moment the car came to a stop. There was nothing. The car swerved again and began to slow down. Pip turned back to Damien.

What he saw struck fear within him. The young Antichrist was hunched over, one hand cupping his head while the other was pressed against the windowpane. Oh no. Oh _no_. What was happening? What was wrong with Damien? Was he okay? He wasn't sick, was he? Or worse, potentially hurt? "Damien, are you all right?!" Pip asked as he moved closer. The car pulled over to a sudden stop, and Damien immediately opened the door and got out. Pip followed suit, wanting to make sure the other was all right.

Damien hunched over on the ground, cradling his head as if it were in immense pain. As Pip made his way closer, he could see the faintest of red stains on the snow covered ground. Was that what it looked it to be? As he got closer, the better he could see, and Pip's heart sank into his gut. Blood. Damien was bleeding. "Damien, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?" he inquired as he placed a hand on the other's shoulder, only for it to be quickly swatted off.

"Don't touch me!" the other snarled as he continued to hold onto his head. Blood was flowing from the young boy's nose onto the ground. "Just _don't touch me_ for a while!" He groaned and leaned forward, his hair nearly touching the ground. Pip sat next to Damien, wondering if there was anything he could possibly do aside from just sitting there. He wanted to help. His best friend was in pain and he wanted to help. Damien just wouldn't let him. He would only let Pip sit there and watch as the other writhed in the snow, and the sight of it broke Pip's heart. He could hear mumblings and groans coming from the other, but could not make out what he was saying. Pip let out a small defeated sigh, and sat still. The two of them sat in silence for a few passing moments, with Damien cradling his head and Pip silently worrying over him. The red stains of blood on snow were slowly pinking as it diluted into the snowy ground. Finally, after much waiting, Damien snorted the blood back into his head, wiped his nose and sat back up. He rose to his feet and feebly began making his way down the interstate exit.

Pip, taking this as his cue, quickly got up and followed after him.

"Damien," he began once he caught up, "Out of the concern I have for you as a friend, may I ask as to what happened back there? Are you sure you should even be walking around right now?" Damien turned to Pip and scowled, then let out a small groan.

"I've never moved something that big for that far for that long before. I just overexerted my power," he explained, wiping his nose on his sleeve again, "It would seem that even the esteemed Son of Satan himself has some damned limits, as infuriating as it is." He paused for a moment and turned back towards Pip. His gaze went past him, looking upon the car behind them. "Although I think I still have enough power left in me to get rid of the evidence." Evidence? What could Damien have meant by that?

Pip watched Damien warily lift his hand and snap his fingers. "Come on, we need to get a few feet ahead." Damien said as he began hobbling forward again. Pip followed after him, placing one of Damien's arms around his shoulders to help him walk steadier. A sudden loud _BANG_! erupted behind them, and Pip felt a harsh wave of heat behind them. He turned to see the car, with Rocco's body still inside, burning away on the side of the road. "Don't stop moving, Pip." Damien urged as he wobblingly walked forward. Pip coming along with him to hold him up.

"Damien why did you set the car on fire?" Pip asked.

"It's no use to us anymore. Might as well get rid of it rather than give Micah something to chase after us in." responded Damien. Pip furrowed his brow.

"But what about Rocco? You did set his body ablaze along with the car."

"He's dead, there's no use keeping his body around. Even with Elijah gone, there's still Micah and his ragtag band of idiots, or anyone else that could be after us for that matter, that could salvage his body if left there and find some way to kill the rest of us. Besides, I find that the sooner the body is reduced to just bones the sooner we come back from Hell. If anything I'm giving the asshole a quicker way back to Earth to do his damn job." Damien replied, grunting as he tried to walk on his own, "You can let go. I can manage it from here." He wobbled along, but aside from that Damien seemed to be able to walk along fine. Pip stayed close to him, however, just in case he needed to step in to catch Damien again. Pip watched the other walk along, and his heart sunk at the sight. Damien always seemed so proud and mighty and now seemed brought so low by his own means.

The drive from the interstate exit to his home would have been about twenty minutes, but now without a car it would most likely take several hours. It was probably for the best that the morning was still rather young; the two of them would have all day to walk their way there. At the very least it would draw out the time Pip got to spend with Damien before the two parted ways. Perhaps in this time given to him he could convince Damien to stay in South Park. After all, he made Micah swear under threat of harming loved ones to stay out, right? Anyone in such a situation would surely follow those terms, right? There would be no harm in at least asking, right?

"Damien? May I ask you something?" he asked.

"You probably will anyway," replied Damien, "What is it this time?"

He breathed in and out slowly and turned to the other. "I request that you stay at my house. You've gone so far out of your way just to get me home when many others probably would have just left me there in the hotel. And what's more you saved my life even at the cost of the lives of your siblings Lilia and Rocco. I know you probably don't consider me as much as friend as I do you, and that you probably don't want to stay in South Park for too long for fear of being hunted down or something, but I would be honored to have my best friend stay at least one night. Besides, you deserve a moment when you don't have to worry about your life or spreading the word of your father's impeding rule of the Earth." With his hands behind his back he crossed his fingers, eagerly hoping with all his young heart that Damien would agree. "You don't even have to stay that long, if you want. Please. I'd just love to have my best friend around for longer than a day."

Damien looked at him and gave a small, exasperated sigh.

"If it were that simple, I would," Damien began, "In all honesty I wouldn't mind that at all. I'm so sick of constantly going town to town and between Earth and Hell. If it were possible for me to have a little stability and stay longer than a few weeks in one place, I would take your offer up. But it's not. So, I can't."

"Why?"

"Several reasons. Some of which I'm not at the liberty to dispose with the likes of you." he replied.

"Does it all have to do with your and your siblings plan to free your father from Hell?" Pip asked. Damien gave him a small nod. "So you can't even stay one day in South Park?" Damien looked away and gave a small shrug.

"I'm not sure. Chances are I'll have to go back to Hell for a while to explain to Father why the Whore and the Horseman of Pestilence and anyone else that may have gotten offed by Elijah. I am my Father's most valued asset in the plans for his escape, so when one of us dies unexpectedly it is to me it all falls on." Damien said. There was a tone of exasperation and reservation in his voice, as if he's gone through this so many times before that he's just come to accept it. How many times could Damien have gone through this to come to this point? "You have it so easy, Pip. I could almost say I'm a little bit jealous of you."

"Why on earth would you say that?" Pip asked with genuine confusion. Jealous? Of him? Pip found that a little hard to believe. Aside from Damien he was essentially friendless, his only living family had shipped him overseas, and his academic life was mediocre at best. He had no special skills or talents that set him apart from the rest. The other children back home mocked and ridiculed him for his nationality and accent. There was nothing, to Pip anyway, that seemed it could be at all appealing to Damien.

"Because you don't have to live up to the expectations of freeing your father from a literal hellhole so he can unleash his thousand year reign upon the Earth. And you don't have to worry about people trying to kill you while you try to live up to said expectations. And you get to go to school and sleep in a bed and live a life so perfectly mundane. I've _never_ had the mundane life. I'd give anything for that. But I can never have that, because I am what I am. You're so lucky, Pip. "

Wow. Pip had never thought of it that way. Small pangs of guilt ached in Pip's heart.

"So you can't even afford to even stay one night? Not even a day?" he asked, "Surely you can at least stay until the afternoon?"

Damien looked ahead and stuffed his pockets. His eyes looked at the ground and breathed in deeply. He turned back to Pip.

"We'll see. It will all depend on how things are in South Park, and whether or not Father needs to know why at least two of my siblings are now back in Hell when they're supposed to be up here corrupting the Earth." Damien replied, "And if that's the case, it may be a while before you see me again."

Pip's heart lifted a bit at the news. He could at least stay until the afternoon. That was great. Wonderful, even. It wasn't a lot, but it would be good enough for Pip. "I hope that's the case. Thank you, Damien."

The two were at Main Street of town by now. Pip's house wouldn't be that far off. At this rate he could very well be home by noon. He found a bit more of a pep in his step as his surroundings became more familiar. With each passing block he was getting closer and closer to his home, his bedroom, his adoptive mother and father. He was getting closer and closer to normal life and he couldn't be more excited. And what made it even better was that Damien was going to stay with him a while before leaving. Things couldn't get more delightful. It was not an hour of walking that they passed the main street area of town and began to enter the suburban parts of town. He could see the giant, yellow building of the South Park Elementary School off in the distance.

Close. They were so close. Home wouldn't be that far now. He turned to Damien and gave him a small tug on his sleeve. An excited grin was spread across his face. He couldn't contain his happiness. "Damien, look! There's the school! We're not that far from my house!" he exclaimed joyously, "Oh, we're making such great time! This is great!" Pip could practically dance from pure joy running through his body. He turned back to Damien, who gave a small nod in agreement.

Pip could feel his eyes begin to water. He was almost there. He had been gone for almost a month, and now he was almost home. He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, the coolness of the moisture leaving a tingling sensation against the cool air.

"What's with you? I thought you were happy to get home." Damien asked.

"I am; that's why this is happening. I'm just _so happy_." Pip responded, turning to the other and giving him a small smile, "It's kind of hard to explain. I've just been gone for so long and now to be back, it just makes me really happy. When I was still trapped in that hotel, I had thought more than once that they would eventually grow tired of keeping me held up in that room and just come up and kill me. After the first week I was pretty sure no one was going to come get me and was just starting to wait until I was eventually put out of my misery. But then you came and got me, and now we're here. We're blocks away from my house and I couldn't be happier. Thank you, Damien."

"Stop thanking me." Damien retorted.

With each passing house and each neighborhood block they walked past, Pip found himself walking faster and faster. By the time he reached the South Park Elementary School building, he was practically frantic in his walk. He could practically see his house now. In the driveway, he could see his mother's car. The door opened up and she stepped out. She looked worn down, exhausted. He couldn't hold in anymore. He ran frantically up to her as fast as his feet could take him.

"Mother!" he shouted. Her head jolted up and she looked around before her eyes finally rested upon Pip. She dropped her things, bringing her hands to her mouth in shock. Pip ran faster and faster, so hard his heart was pounding in his chest. He collided into his mother's body and wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his face into her windbreaker. He felt her arms around his body and felt solace in her embrace.

"Pip? Pip?" his mother said softly, "Oh my god, you're alive!" He could hear her sobbing as she held him tightly. "P-Pip, my little boy…back from the dead…" Pip could feel himself losing his composure and beginning to shake; his throat was tight, his jaw trembled, his eyes were tearing up freely and his face was moistened with his tears.

"I missed you, mother," he mumbled into the fabric of her shirt, "I've missed you so much."

She pulled away from him for a moment, and knelt down to his eye level. She brushed the hair from his face, cupped his cheeks and covered his face in kisses. She pulled him to her again in another tight hug. Oh, how he had missed this. He thought this would never happen again for the longest time, and now here he was being held and kissed and loved again by his adoptive mother. And it was all thanks to Damien.

Damien. That's right, Damien!

He turned from his mother, ready to introduce her to the young boy who had helped Pip escape and brought him back home. But where Damien should have been, there was nothing. No black sweater. No tussled, dark hair against pale skin and dark eyes. No Anti-Christ. No Damien, anywhere. And Pip's joyous heart sunk.

* * *

**Well, that's about it for this chapter. I'll try to get to work on the next chapter as soon as I can, and try to finish it as soon as I can as well. If you guys have anything you want to tell me or simply want to gush feelings about the chapter, feel free to leave a review. Thank you for reading and have a nice day!**


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